


Conversations With Dead People

by ladyeternal



Series: Angelic Mates 'verse [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Mating (Supernatural), Fix-It, Fólkvangr, Heaven, It Doesn’t Follow That They Stay That Way, M/M, Mating Bond, Moirai, Red String of Fate, Stress Baking, The Book of Fate, The Garden, They Repair What They Broke, all men must die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:39:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: This time, the boys have to handle their own unfinished business.





	1. Jess

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I think we all know by now that if I owned Supernatural, there would be unabashed pr0n and Gabriel would have more plot armor than Dean, Cas and Sam combined. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored and am only playing with these worlds for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
> 
> Author’s Note: I PROMISED I’D FIX IT.
> 
> Title unrepentantly ganked from the BtVS episode of the same name. Beta’d by the truly magnificent secondplatypus. Every single one of my readers, new and from when the series first began, are near and dear to my heart. Thank you for trusting me through all the awfulness; I promise that from here on, everything gets better.
> 
> And sexier. Y’all know me by now. ;-P
> 
> Comments give me life. ~_^. ♥
> 
> Music: [Now on Spotify!](https://open.spotify.com/user/eb9xgc1zaky70qs90sdc4frz0/playlist/3xISHmruco2ddG4pCeVfLy?si=6KP8uOd4SDGluQ6ORneFvw)  
> Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley  
> Whatever It Takes – Lifehouse  
> What About Now – Daughtry  
> Oh My My – Ruelle  
> Crystal – Stevie Nicks  
> Have a Little Faith In Me – John Hiatt  
> All That I’m Asking For – Lifehouse  
> Lifeline – Papa Roach  
> Notbroken – Goo Goo Dolls  
> Let My Love Open the Door – Luminate  
> Marchin’ On – OneRepublic

~ooooOOOoooo~

The strangest part about dying, Sam had decided, wasn’t the way coming out on the other side always felt like waking up from a particularly deep sleep and realizing that you had no idea where you were. So much of his life had been spent traveling that falling asleep in one place and waking up in another was a routine occurrence. The initial wave of disorientation was easily quashed now, his senses quickly assessing his surroundings while his muscles decided whether or not it was safe to relax.

The strangest part about dying had to have been the realization that which realm he ended up wasn’t going to be as easily predictable as many people believed, and that it was different every time. But most people only died the once, so Sam was pretty sure he and Dean were aberrations in the data on that score.

This time, he opened his eyes to see light filtering in through gauzy sheer curtains around a window just above his head. He was lying on his back on a couch of brown, plush fabric, and his legs were sprawled at an odd angle over the arm at the opposite end because it was too short for his frame.

“It’s about time you came to visit.”

The voice had Sam snapping upright, his eyes blurring and his throat closing on disbelief.

Out of all the times he could remember dying, he’d never woken up in the same place as Jess before.

She was perched on a coffee table beside him, her curls glowing in the daylight and her eyes dancing the way they always had when she’d made fun of him. Her heart-shaped face was the same sun-kissed tan he remembered, her lips still the plump mauve that had tempted him to kiss her from the very first moment he’d seen her. She was wearing her favorite jean shorts and the Smurf shirt that she’d been sleeping in on the night she’d finally met Dean.

The last night he’d seen her alive.

He didn’t know he was crying until the smile slid off her face and she was climbing into his lap, her arms and legs wrapping around him as he clung to her. He’d loved her, and that love had destroyed her, and he’d seen it coming. Seen and ignored it, hoping that he could’ve buried what the visions meant just like everything else in his past. Ignoring that too often, burial wasn’t enough to make what went into the ground stay there.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, his voice cracking across his guilt. “I’m so, so sorry, Jess.”

“Don’t, Sam.” Her slender fingers were stroking through his hair, her head tipped against his. There was no part of her that wasn’t completely molded against him, no hesitation in the way she comforted him. “You didn’t know.”

“But I _did_.” Sam curled around her just a little tighter, instinctively afraid that she would pull away and unable to let her. Not just yet. “I saw it; I knew he was coming.”

“But you didn’t know why,” she countered. She leaned back just enough to get the pressure of his embrace to relax, and she tipped his face up so she could see his eyes. “You should’ve told me about your family; your past. You owed me the truth. But I will _kick. your. **ass**_ if you try to hold yourself accountable for the things that you couldn’t possibly have known at the time; I don’t care what kind of crazy amazing powers you have.”

Sam laughed, a small wet sound of bemused acknowledgment, and then he was reaching up to cup her face. “I still should’ve protected you better,” he told her. “I ignored things I shouldn’t have, and you wouldn’t have even been involved if they hadn’t been trying to keep me from walking off the chess board.”

“Oh, Sam.” Jess pressed a kiss to both of his eyes, the saline of his residual tears dampening her lips. “You’re a genius, but sometimes you’re really stupid.” His eyes slanted in question, and she gave him a soft, indulgent smile. “I was always going to be involved. Why do you think Brady chose me? I’d been trying to get your attention since spring semester in our first year.”

“What?” Sam blinked at her, his context for everything that had happened in the past five years rearranging itself again.

“It was either let your roommate set us up or crash one of your classes.” Her smile deepened to impishness, her dimples coming out in force.

Tangling his fingers into her hair, Sam drew her face down for a kiss. It was as sweet and honest as he remembered their kisses being in life: a honeyed promise of a simpler destiny.

But even as the kiss ended and she was resting her forehead against his own, Sam couldn’t help remembering kisses that tasted of strawberries. Of stardust and lilies on caramel-smooth skin. Of an embrace that was far from innocent even in its tenderest moments, and the way it felt to wake wrapped in the shadows of an archangel’s wings.

“It’s okay,” Jess murmured, as if reading his mind. Since this was her Heaven, perhaps she could. “It’s okay that you love him, too. And it’s okay that you have to let go of me.”

“I love you, Jess.” It was a simple truth, unaltered by everything that had happened since her death. In her love had lain a road that would’ve led to happiness. Forces larger than both of them had forbidden him to take it. But they could not change his heart, nor take away from him the memories of joy on the cusp of what could’ve been wonderful.

“I love you, too, Sam.” She kissed him again, still soft and sweet, a sharp contrast to the ferocity that no one ever expected from her. He’d have given anything for Dean to have been on the receiving end of it at least once. “But you have to let go of feeling like it’s disloyal to be happy with the life that you were born for. I’m honestly a little pissed that nobody gave me the chance to live it with you.”

Another laugh chuffed out of him, his eyes finally drying. “You’ve always been pretty amazing; you know that?”

“I know,” she replied, a gamine twitch edging her smile. “But I mean it, Sam. We can wish all we want, but we can’t change the fact that you were born into something important. Something only you and that overconfident brother of yours could do. And ditching out of it, to be with me or anyone else, just wasn’t in the cards.”

“I just wish I knew why it had to be me,” he sighed.

One eyebrow quirked. “Would you really have trusted something this important to anyone else?”’

“Probably not,” Sam admitted ruefully. A beat passed. “I need to find Dean,” he finally said. “I’m not sure what we do now, but whatever it is, he won’t even consider doing it until he has both Cas and I with him.”

“What about Gabriel?”

The question was mild enough, but it still felt like a blow to the ribs. Sam’s breath caught as he reached out on reflex, only to be reminded that the bond was no longer there between them. It left Sam at a loss as he realized that he’d already moved into survival mode, as if Gabriel would no longer want anything to do with him because the bond had been broken.

He’d had to leave so very much behind: friends and dreams, loves and plans for a future that was far humbler than what the universe had set before him. Even his mating to Gabriel had been given up for the sake of stopping the Apocalypse. It was far too easy to believe that it would always be like that. That his destiny was to always be shriven of everything he was determined to keep for himself.

But looking up into Jess’ face, Sam couldn’t help the defiance that welled up in his heart. Gabriel had stayed with him. Had allowed Michael and Dean and Castiel to believe that he’d sided with Lucifer all along in order to follow Sam into the breach. He wouldn’t leave Gabriel behind. Not unless Gabriel wanted him to.

Jess could see the way his determination coalesced and kissed the end of his nose. “There you are. Thought I’d lost you for a minute.” Standing up from his lap, she held out a hand to help him to his feet. “You ready to go back to work?”

“Yeah.” Sam stood, wrapping her into another hug as he reached his feet. She folded into his embrace willingly, and Sam gave himself a moment to just soak in the way it felt to have her back in his arms.

He couldn’t keep her. He knew that now. She’d never been meant to be his partner in life. But he’d loved her, and she him, and there was nothing in the universe that could mar that. Not now that he knew she didn’t hold him responsible for her death. Not now that he knew she forgave him for not trusting her with the truth. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Always,” she replied before gently pulling free of his arms. “Now go get your mate back.”

Sam nodded, squared his shoulders and walked to the door that was in the entry hall just beyond the room they’d been in. He didn’t know where he’d find Gabriel, nor was he entirely sure he could. But he knew where he needed to start.


	2. Father, Son & Holy Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should’ve mentioned this before: the chapter lengths in this are going to be a bit shorter, and not as evenly split, as others of my stories y’all have read. This one just didn’t lend itself to that. So short chapters be short, but every step takes us closer to a happier place. ♥
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, gang.

~ooooOOOoooo~

The Silver City was never quiet. Since time out of mind, the spheres had always been filled with the music of adulation. Like the low buzz of a hive, except liquid crystal notes shimmering in the aether, all weaving into a song of love and adoration for the One that had made them.

It was unnerving, therefore, for Castiel’s consciousness to reform itself in his Father’s throne room, in the heart of the Silver City, and find the air all but completely silent.

He was on his feet, armed and armored, his wings folded against his back. His senses detected no one else in the room with him, which made little sense given his resurrection. He remembered dying on the Morningstar’s blade. They had failed to stop the final confrontation. Either Michael or Lucifer had won the day, and neither would have seen fit to leave his resurrection unguarded.

But he was alone. And although his bond to Dean was still intact, the sense of his mate was muted, indistinct. His soul had not yet emerged from the crucible. Which meant that Castiel needed to find him swiftly, before anyone could take advantage of that vulnerability.

“You don’t need to do that.”

Castiel spun at the voice, his sword drawn on instinct, only to find the rumpled form of Chuck Shurley standing there with him. “How are you here?” he demanded, lowering his sword but keeping in hand as he closed the distance between them.

“I’ve always been here, Castiel,” he replied. There was a calm about the prophet now, where before there had always been an undercurrent of anxiety. “And I’m sorry about all this. If I could’ve done this another way, I would’ve.”

One heartbeat passed. Another. And then Castiel sensed the mask falling away, and understood, and dropped into a deep bow of obeisance. “Father.”

“Not in this form,” Chuck reminded him. “Which is how I was able to hide from that pendant you and Dean were carrying around. It’s not entirely a fair trick, I know, but you have no idea how hard it is for Me to get anything done as Myself anymore.”

“Does this mean that Michael is dead?” Castiel asked at once, the tactician in him slipping into place as he straightened. “Have You returned to organize the defense of the Silver City?”

“You already know the answer to that question,” Chuck told him gently. “Listen, Castiel.”

Thrown for a moment, Castiel did as his Father bid him. Closing his eyes, he let his being become one with the song of his siblings, and listened.

_{Mourning. Grief so vast that it burned like a star. Ageless wounds thought long healed, suddenly revealed to still be suppurated, seeping poison and bleeding just as steadily as when freshly struck. Loss, incomprehensible, impossible. Redemption at the most terrible of prices.}_

When Castiel’s eyes opened, he could feel the tears on his lashes. “That is… entirely unexpected.”

“Even by Me,” Chuck agreed, His voice suspiciously thick. “But then, so have you been…”

Castiel felt himself brace for the blow. For the ultimate punishment for his rebellion.

“In every way I could ever have hoped.”

For the second time since his resurrection, Castiel stared at YHWH in incomprehension. “What?”

Chuck smiled again, His hands slipping into the pockets of an exact replica of the robe He’d worn while masquerading as a rumpled human prophet. “My son… Michael is like Me, but he isn’t Me. I’ve known from the moment I breathed life into your form: at every crossroads, no matter how hard anyone tries to direct you onto a different path, you will always choose Dean. But even in this, you’ve exceeded every expectation I’ve ever placed in you, and together you’ve all made something possible that even I couldn’t have anticipated. I couldn’t have asked for better devotion than that: to Me, or to humanity.”

For the briefest of seconds, Castiel swayed as if he had been struck, overcome by an affirmation he’d believed impossible. Covering the motion, Castiel went to one knee, his sword arm coming up across his heart. “I… Father, I am ever Yours to Command.”

“No, Castiel.” Chuck touched him on the shoulder, urging the Power to his feet. “You’re My son… and I’m proud of you.”

Taking an unsteady breath, Castiel gave a small smile. “Thank you, Father. What happens to Lucifer now?”

“That’s… complicated,” Chuck admitted. “You know as well as anyone that he is the Lightbringer, Castiel… and the dangers inherent in snuffing out that light.” Castiel nodded, and Chuck let go of his shoulder with a deep indrawn breath. “But that’s for another time, and not on you or your mate’s shoulders, at any rate. Go and find the rest of your flock; you’ve all earned a respite.”

“Is it over, then?” Castiel asked. “Sam and Dean will go to their reward?”

Chuck gave an enigmatic smile. “Castiel, I thought you knew: there are no happy endings… because nothing ends.”


	3. Loki (a/k/a The Real Slim Shady)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the title of this chapter: I am a giant nerd. I had to do it. XOXOXO ~_^. ♥
> 
> Updating a day early because of commitments tomorrow. I hope you enjoy!

~ooooOOOoooo~

“If I’d known that you were this much of a fool, I’d never have let you assume My identity.”

It was the last place that Gabriel had expected to return to consciousness, especially after his life had been reft from him by Michael’s blade. And yet he was blinking awake in the shade beneath a great tree, with a face that mirrored the one he’d worn for fifteen centuries glaring at him in undisguised derision. “At the time we came to our little arrangement, I had no expectation that the Vessels would be so… compelling.”

“Compelling,” Loki snorted. “A delicate word for an indelicate motivation. You in YHWH’s brood pretend to such purity of purpose, but in the end, you’re no better than the Olympians at controlling your basest urges. All that careful planning… centuries of successfully holding yourself above this petty little internecine squabble… all thrown into the gutter like so much chamberpot waste, and all because your brothers’ Vessels turned out to be hot pieces of ass.”

Gabriel pushed himself to his feet, his expression turning stony. “Broken bond or not, he’s still my mate, Loki. So I’ll thank You to speak of him with some respect.”

“I’ll speak of him any way I choose,” Loki retorted. “Although I suppose, given the outcome, he deserves some marginal credit for out-of-the-box thinking.”

Alarm rocketed through Gabriel’s veins at that, instinct prodding him to reach out through a bond that no longer existed before he could remember that fact. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Loki sniffed, side-stepping the question. “After all, now that you’ve broken the terms of our arrangement, it’s time for you to go back to the Host where you belong. I’m sure they’ll be happy to bring you up to speed... just as soon as they’re done plucking your feathers out of your wings for abandoning and betraying them.”

“Enough, Loki.” The Trickster God flinched imperceptibly as an armored goddess came to join them, Her sun-gold hair flowing in a long braid down Her back as She approached. “Changes in circumstance that neither of you could’ve predicted at the time don’t constitute a violation of the terms you reached. And _You_ do not dictate the terms of who is welcome in _My_ realm.”

Gabriel offered her a smile. “Nice to know I’ve managed to preserve a few friends in high places.”

Her storm-grey eyes fixed on him with no little irritation. “Don’t think for a moment that I’m happy with you either, Herald. You’re coming dangerously close to abusing My hospitality with your antics, and unlike Loki, I _am_ in a position to put a stop to them permanently.”

“Hopefully, Freyja,” Gabriel replied with more humility in his voice than he’d ever displayed to any deity other than his father, “the way things will unfold from here will require far fewer emergency measures. You know… leave me a little more time for forward planning than I’ve had in the past couple years?”

The appeal in the expression on his face made Hers soften, and Freyja sighed with some resignation even as She smiled. “One of these years, you’re going to exhaust the limits of your charm, you know. What exactly am I supposed to do with you when that happens?”

“I can think of several creative suggestions,” Loki offered, the gleam in His eyes as sharp as a blade.

“I’m sure you can,” Gabriel groused. “But other than deciding that staying out of the conflict wasn’t worth giving up the chance to be with a man I love, I’ve upheld the terms of our arrangement, Loki. You have no reason to start sharpening those knives of yours… or anything else, for that matter.”

“Just as I have no reason to do you or your intrepid little cadre any further favors.” The Trickster god’s gaze cut like a razor. “Your cover was blown because of that perversely stubborn human you decided to mate with, and now Odhinn and Baldur and the others know that I’ve been in hiding for all this time. Unforeseen as your liaison might have been… which, by the way, I don’t believe given that you have the Sight… the fact remains that our arrangement ended with your unmasking. A circumstance that also leaves Me disinclined to begin a new one.”

Gabriel nodded, knowing that there was little point in arguing. Once Loki’s mind was made up on something, persuading Him to change it was an exhausting and often futile effort. Especially when one had nothing to bargain with. “I understand, but to be honest, Loki, it’s a mask I’ve outworn. I can’t go back to pretending to be someone I’m not, and that’s setting aside the fact that I’ve nothing to go back to… either in Heaven or on Earth.” He turned to Freyja, his expression more solemn now. “I just need to know what happened after Michael killed me. Who won.”

“Neither of them,” Loki replied.

“You can’t tell me they decided to call off the fight after all?” Gabriel blinked at the Trickster before narrowing his eyes. “Loki…”

“They did begin,” Freyja told him, Her voice gentle. “Somehow, in the middle of the battle, they remembered that they are brothers, first and forever. If it had been an ordinary skirmish, that would’ve been enough, but the deep magicks had already been called by that point. It had gone too far, as We all feared.”

“So they had to finish it anyway,” Gabriel murmured, the conclusion making him sick to his stomach. He then looked at Loki. “But You said neither of them won.”

“As I understand it,” Loki replied with a shrug, “one can hardly claim to have won a battle in which one’s opponent kills themselves before you can deal a death blow.”

If blood had been required for life in Folkvangr, Gabriel would’ve been able to feel every drop draining from his face. “You lie,” he managed, his voice just above a whisper.

Loki’s lips curled. “What purpose would that possibly serve? Besides, to My understanding, it was your darling mate’s idea. I can’t imagine how he came up with it.”

The last thing Gabriel remembered before the world around him dissolved into light was the feel of his sword in his hand and a snarl of rage leaving his lips.


	4. John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure you all noticed that the chapter count went up; I reconfigured things a little so that it would flow better.
> 
> I also want to acknowledge here that John is a source of controversy and complicated emotions, and for very good reasons. My take on his character is my own and not intended to excuse or apologize for the way he treated the boys. AFAIC, all viewpoints on him are valid. ♥

~ooooOOOoooo~

Having deja vu about waking up dead was at once so disorienting and so annoying that Dean’s eyes rolled almost as soon as they opened. He was in the Impala again, just like the last time he’d ended up in Heaven, the car once again parked on a narrow stretch of isolated highway.

It took only a moment to register that he was in the passenger seat rather than the driver’s. And he wasn’t alone. “Dad?”

“Hello, Dean.” John Winchester was sitting behind the wheel, his posture so familiar that Dean couldn’t tell yet if this was really his father’s spirit or some conjuring of his Heaven in response to his memories. “Gotta say: I was hoping I wouldn’t see you here for a long time yet.”

Dean sighed and pushed himself further up in the seat, his posture straightening in a habit so ingrained that it had become muscle memory. “Sorry, Dad.”

“Not your fault.” John turned to look at his eldest son, his face the younger, less-careworn version that Dean remembered from his trips into the past. “It’s nobody’s fault, really… unless you count the angels and demons that decided it was okay to use our family as cannon fodder in their war. You did the best you could.”

There was nothing particularly incendiary about the statement. It was quite possible that it was the most reasonable reaction Dean could’ve gotten from his father, all things considered. But it was enough to light something inside Dean’s head on fire, and then he was shoving the Impala’s door open and launching himself out onto the pavement, the car too small to contain what was between them.

“You know what?” he shouted as his father came out of the car, a puzzled expression on his face. “I didn’t. I didn’t do the best I could. Me an’ Sammy’ve had Heaven and Hell fitting our necks for nooses for _decades_ and we had _fuck all_ for warning until it was too goddamned late and we _still_ managed to sidestep the whole fucking shitshow for a _year_! And you know why? Because I didn’t just do the best I could; I did _better_.”

“Dean-”

“No, you know what? Screw you,” Dean snarled. “You have no idea how much you played right into their goddamned hands. You spent so much time diving headlong into hunting and raising us to be just like the sons of bitches that wanted to _wear_ us that we didn’t even find out the name of the bastard that killed Mom until after he was dead!” He advanced on John, getting in a good hard shove that forced his father back a few feet. “Maybe that would’ve been useful, huh? Maybe we would’ve gotten ahead of things if we’d concentrated on him instead of tracking every Llorona and skinchanger in the Midwest?”

The second shove he went for was caught by John’s strong hands. Dean broke his grip with contemptuous ease, glaring furiously into his father’s baleful eyes, no longer puzzled and certainly not accepting of Dean’s diatribe. “Maybe,” John replied coolly, “but I’m still your father, and I taught you to speak to me with more respect than that.”

“You taught me to follow your orders,” Dean shot back. “Just like the stupid sonuvabitch that wanted to use me as a prom dress did with his father.”

“I taught you to stay alive!” John snapped. “You seem to forget that this isn’t the first war I had to fight in, Dean. You have no idea what it was like over there… and then to come home and start courting your mother, only for her parents to get murdered one night out of nowhere? Nothing was safe after that; not even the town I grew up in. And your mother didn’t just not tell me about her past, Dean: she _hid_ it from me. Dismissed the things I tried to ask about… things I remembered but didn’t understand… as the war having messed me up more than I’d thought. All because she decided it was better to just forget everything she’d always hated about her life, including the deal she’d made to bring me back, regardless of what it might mean to me to know that it wasn’t all nightmares because of the war. Regardless of the difference it might have made for our family if we’d been prepared for that yellow-eyed bastard to show up instead of pretending we were ordinary people. So you wanna blame someone for us not being able to catch up to the sonuvabitch? Fine. But don’t lump it all on the doorstep of a guy who barely finished high school and had no idea what was going on until he found his wife eviscerated and burning to death on the ceiling of his son’s nursery.”

Some of Dean’s rage drained away at that, receding back into the anger with his mother that he’d always kept a tight lid on out of respect for the woman he’d adored from the first of his earliest memories. “And you can’t blame what you did to us afterwards on Mom keeping you in the dark. You didn’t just teach us how to stay alive. You taught Sam to resent you, and me by extension for a long time, all because he wanted to be a normal kid and you took how mad you were at Mom for wanting the same thing out on him. You taught me that anything that ever went wrong on a job was my fault. That if Sammy died, it would be my fault. You taught us that nothing mattered but the mission… not even us… a mission you couldn’t even stay on yourself, as it turned out.”

John sighed, and to Dean’s surprise, the anger in his father’s face melted into regret. “The mission had to be the thing that mattered, Dean. Because the only way to complete the mission is to keep your unit alive long enough to see it through. They don’t teach you that in San Diego. I couldn’t afford for you boys to not learn that, because I needed you both to survive, no matter what.”

“Yeah, well, you definitely drove that home.” Dean could feel the exhaustion creeping into his voice, the anger he’d carried for years now finally showing its weight. “Disappearing for days at a time and leaving us alone. Leaving _me_ alone to figure out how to feed Sammy when the money ran out. To learn what it felt like to go hungry so he didn’t have to. I wasn’t just your second-in-command. I was as much Sammy’s parent as you were, and there was nobody to do that for me. Mom made plenty of mistakes, but she didn’t choose to abandon us even when she was standing right there. You did. In all the ways that mattered, you did.”

“I know.” John shoved his hands in his leather jacket; identical to the one on Dean’s own shoulders. It took Dean a moment to remember that such things were possible in Heaven, where thought became reality in the space of a breath. “A hundred years on the rack, and I still haven’t done enough penance for it. But they let me in here anyway, once that yellow-eyed bastard was dead, so I must’ve done something right somewhere along the way.”

Dean snorted. “The way these junkless assholes think, I ain’t so sure about that.”

John swore under his breath. “What do you want to hear, Dean? That I was wrong? That I’ll go back to Hell and get tortured until you say it’s enough? How many pounds of flesh will make any of what happened to _any of us_ better?”

For a long moment, Dean stood there, reeling from emotions he didn’t know how to name. A cloud moved overhead, letting the moonlight spill down over his body even as it left his father in shadow.

_*“Sam starring as Lucifer… Dean starring as Michael… play your roles…”*_

The flame of rage that tried to ignite at the memory of the Trickster’s words was washed away as understanding flooded in. It had never been just he and his brother that had been given roles to play. Azazel, their parents, their angels… so many others. They’d all had roles to play, and for the most part, they’d followed the direction given to them exactly as expected. In the grander scope of things, it had been Dean and Sam going off script that had forced everyone else to improvise around them in the final hours before opening curtain, and even then, it had only been because their bond had been stronger than anyone else had expected.

In falling back on his military training as the best tool he had to ensure his sons’ survival, and then leaving his sons to fend for themselves in violation of what so many people would call the core trust that all parents should uphold, John had played the role laid out for him so well that it had created something no one, angel or demon, had anticipated. He’d created the perfect environment for his sons to be welded into a unit so unbreakable that it could stand against everything that tried to rend it apart.

And if that knowledge did not expiate John’s sins, it at least gave Dean the peace of knowing that what he and Sam had lived through because of them had not been for nothing. Had possibly made all the difference, in the end.

“We should’ve tried harder,” Dean said finally. “Instead of making Sam feel like a freak, we should’ve tried harder to use the information it gave us to figure out Azazel’s long game.”

“You’re right,” John agreed. “And you’re right about me. I made a lot of mistakes with both of you. And I let you both down in ways that I’ll never be able to make up for. But I’d like to think that I managed to get a few things right where it counted.”

“Maybe,” Dean conceded. He slowly moved to place a hand on the smooth finish of the Impala’s roof, drawing a measure of comfort from the familiar feel of her beneath his fingers. “I have to find Cas. He’ll know how things panned out after I died, and what happened to Sam.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Dean blinked hard as his father climbed into the passenger seat, staring at him in complete incomprehension. His father had never let Dean take the wheel unless he’d been half dead from wounds or exhaustion. “You’re… not driving?”

“It’s your angel we’re trying to pin down, isn’t it?” John asked. There was something resembling a twinkle in his eyes. “Call me old-fashioned, but I think a man has the right to meet the person his son’s planning on spending the rest of eternity with, don’t you?”

Closing the door on his father and striding around the back of the car to reach the driver’s seat gave Dean time to remember that he was a grown-ass man and there was absolutely no reason for him to be blushing in response to that remark like he was still a teenager caught making time with a girl.

In one of the few openly kind gestures he’d ever given his son, John didn’t needle Dean about it as he turned the key in the ignition and began the drive.


	5. Michael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a week after the announcement that Season 15 will be the final curtain. I’m still spun. I don’t know how I’m going to survive next season without going into shock from dehydration every Thursday.
> 
> But I will keep writing my planned Supernatural fics. I will never stop writing for Team Free Love. Because family doesn’t end, and happily ever after all depends on where you stop your story.
> 
> I love you all. We’ll get through this together. ♥ ♥ ♥

~ooooOOOoooo~

Perhaps, knowing Freyja as well as he did, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he’d only been cast to the furthest edge of Folkvangr in order to keep him from attacking Loki. Freyja understood how provoking Loki could be, and Gabriel hadn’t been in any fit state to manage his reactions.

Still, finding himself slumped against the door of a modest house in the middle of a clearing, with morning glory vines climbing the walls and lush gardens of fragrant lilies all around him was fairly unexpected. After all, when it came down to it, Folkvangr wasn’t his realm. No matter how close to Heaven or Earth it was, it could never truly be either. And just because he no longer belonged in his Father’s lands didn’t mean that he would be welcome to stay in Freyja’s. Or anyone else’s.

Pushing to his feet, Gabriel let his wings slip free and shook the dust from them before knocking on the door. When there was no response, the archangel tested the handle and found that it opened easily.

Stepping inside, Gabriel couldn’t help the shock of recognition that shivered through him. The house and furnishings were completely unfamiliar to him, of course; he’d never been here before. But everything in the tidy cottage: from the placement of the windows, to the fresh strawberries in a bowl beside a bottle of champagne on the sideboard in the reading porch, to the scent of warm flannel and old books that pervaded every room; had clearly been created to be his.

“It was,” Freyja told him. The goddess was standing behind him in the entry hall, Her stance more relaxed than when She’d found he and Loki only minutes earlier. “I thought you might prefer somewhere quieter than Sessrumnir… and also much less crowded.”

“You’ve always known me better than most,” he replied, turning to offer Her a genuine smile. “I’m honored, my Lady.”

A small, wistful sigh left Her as She approached him, placing one hand on the side of his face. He leaned into the gesture, wishing the hand was larger. Callused. Sam’s. “And you have always been kind, My friend, especially when I’ve needed it most. This place is for you, for whenever and however long you wish to stay.”

“You say that like I’ll have reason to leave it again.” It wasn’t quite the tease that Gabriel wanted it to be, his voice betraying how isolated he felt. How truly abandoned and alone.

“We are immortals,” Freyja reminded him wisely. “And no matter what our personal loves, or losses, the Great Game will not allow us to sit idly by forever. Soon or late, something will require you to take the field again, and you will go because, despite your protestations, you are no more made to allow your loved ones to fight such battles without you than I am.” The archangel made a sound of resignation and Freyja laughed. “You know it’s true… but worry about it later. Just now, you have a home to settle into… and your first houseguest is waiting outside, hoping that you will invite him in for tea.”

“Sam?” It was hope against hope, the syllable escaping even as She disappeared without hearing it. The door opened wider with a thought as he stepped into the kitchen to set water boiling, an excited “well, don’t just stand out there like a dope!” shouted at the person waiting on the threshold outside.

One careful step into the entry hall. Another. The sound of those steps coming not from a modern steel-toed boot, but one of leather chased with angelic steel. “Brother?”

Gabriel stilled. It wasn’t a voice he’d expected to hear, especially not here. “Michael.”

“Gabriel, I…”

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” Gabriel snarled, refusing to turn and face his elder brother. “Don’t you dare ask forgiveness. Not of me.”

“You played the part of a traitor,” Michael tried, stepping closer into the kitchen. “You, of all of them, should understand why-”

The rationalization was cut off with a sound like two thunderheads colliding. When the eruption cleared, Michael stood with his head turned aside, every line in his body a silhouette of shame.

Gabriel’s entire being vibrated, his eyes fixed on the handprint left on his brother’s cheek where he’d slapped Michael with all of his strength. “Don’t you even dare,” Gabriel hissed. “ _I_ should understand? What about _you_? You, who comforted me after Caine? After the nephil? Who held us together after Heylel’s betrayal? You couldn’t let go of us back then, wouldn’t let Raph or Uriel or me out of your sight. And then, one by one, you cut us all loose! How many, Michael? How many of us are _dead_ because you lost hope? Do you even know? Do you care?”

“Of course I care!” Michael shot back. “But I had to bring Father back; you all needed Him-”

“We needed you, too.” Gabriel’s voice was the flat of a blade. “We needed you, He Who Is Like _______. And you abandoned us as surely as He did.”

Michael’s shoulders lost their angry tension, his wings drooping. “I was trying to fix it, Gabe.”

Sunset amber eyes shuttered against the pain in his brother’s voice. He could feel himself forgiving already, the need and will to do so instinctual. “I know, Mikey. This has been a thousand degrees of fucked up for way too long. But you need to own your part in it; you’re as bad at that as Lucifer ever tried to be. And don’t argue!” he snapped as Michael’s mouth opened. “You are and you know it. So you can do us both a favor and save your breath.”

“What can I do?” Michael asked after a moment. “What would you have me to do make this better between us?”

For a long moment, Gabriel was torn. He was being asked, albeit obliquely, to cast judgment. To pronounce the parameters of Michael’s penance. And a part of him wanted so badly to refuse it. To leave Michael twisting, unable to atone.

But another part, a part of him that had been hidden away for centuries… that part of him was tired of being alone. Of finding places in which he only seemed to belong, and companions that only knew the barest glimmers of who he was.

The part of him that had been in pain ever since the brightest star in Heaven had fallen just wanted to go home.

“You can start by telling me what you did with your vessel,” Gabriel heard himself say, his voice so hollow that it sounded as if he was speaking through a glass tube. “Where’s Adam?”

“Alive,” Michael told him. “Though comatose; I thought it best to prevent his being asked questions that he’s not prepared to answer, given what happened.”

“What about the… bodies?” Almost as if to hide from the word, Gabriel turned back towards his kitchen hearth, hanging the kettle to boil and watching the flames that required no wood to burn.

“Removed to the Southern Watchtower.” For lack of anything else to do, Michael began gathering things around the kitchen onto the work surface of the island in the center of the room. “They’ll be safe there until some decisions are made.”

Gabriel turned back to his brother with a frown. “Decisions? What decisions?”

“It seems,” Michael offered as he began measuring ingredients for shortbread into a mixing bowl, “that Sam convincing Heylel to sacrifice himself in order to satisfy the requirements of our battle was entirely unexpected. And not just by me… by everyone, including Fate Herself. She’s apparently decided that a solution so unconventional that not even She could’ve predicted it warrants an equally unconventional response.”


	6. Mary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with John’s chapter, I want to stress here that my take on Mary is not intended as either condemnation of or condoning her actions pre-series. It is only intended to explore this complex woman in ways that canon did not, and does not override anyone’s particular opinion or attitude towards her.
> 
> Every single one of you helps me through the hard days. Thank you for being such lovely fellow fans and readers. ♥

~ooooOOOoooo~

There had been any number of times when it had been necessary for Sam to walk down a long stretch of highway in his life. Times when the Impala had needed some kind of mid-trip repair and his father had sent he and Dean to find a service station or pay phone so that they could be towed to a local garage. Times when he’d been unable to sleep and slipped out of the back seat to walk it off, never allowing himself to go more than a few mile markers away because of the potential dangers even on a little-used two-lane in the middle of nowhere. Times when he’d just needed to get away, and his father or Dean had let him while following in the car from a discreet distance.

Walking the Axis Mundi was different and the same all at once. It offered the same monotonous serenity with none of the aches in his feet or joints after having traveled more than a quarter mile. His clothing didn’t start to chafe, and there was no telltale rub that heralded the onset of a blister. If he wanted to stop and rest for a while, there was always a place to sit down just off the road that sheltered him from the direct sunlight, and there was no risk from local wildlife or drivers with ill intentions towards potential hitchhikers.

He wished there was a way to find Dean or Castiel more quickly. He and Dean had forged a bond of their own; the pathway had been easy to create thanks to their mating bonds, but Sam had privately wondered if the ground hadn’t already been broken for one long before that. They’d always been closer than normal siblings. They shared a Heaven. Being predisposed to a telepathic connection didn’t sound all that outlandish to him, all things considered.

But the connection was gone, at least for the moment, and Sam had a feeling that even if they were able to reconnect without him being mated to Gabriel, it wouldn’t be something he could just force back into existence on his own. Just like when it had first sprung to life between them, it would require he and Dean to be in the same place at the same time, both working towards reforging the path.

His reverie was broken by the sound of a car coming down the highway. He’d long since passed the limits of the town that made up Jess’ Heaven: her childhood home in a bedroom community outside Spokane. As best he understood, he was traveling between Heavens now, just as he and Dean had done the last time they’d been here, and there were only a few that had the ability to cross the boundaries that kept people inside their own private paradises.

Rolling over so that he was belly down on the grass and below the driver’s potential eye-line, Sam watched as a 1978 Chrysler LeBaron station wagon came over the rise in the opposite direction from the way he’d been walking, cruising too slowly for it to be a pleasure drive. Sam felt himself brace as the vehicle came to a stop not far from where he’d taken cover, wishing he had a weapon to hand.

The driver’s door opened and the person behind the wheel emerged, and Sam heard a voice call out that had his jaw dropping in reflexive shock. “Sam? Honey, where are you?”

There was every reason for him to continue hiding. The last time he’d heard that voice in Heaven, it had been one of Zachariah’s cruel pranks. His limbs coiled beneath him of their own accord, pushing him to his feet and into plain sight just as his mother’s head was turning to scan the area. Her face lit up in a smile so warm that Sam’s heart ached for the unfairness of his never being able to receive that smile during his childhood. Dean had, though, and remembered what it had been like to realize that he would never see it again, so Sam couldn’t be sure who had gotten the better of that deal. “Mom?”

Mary crossed the highway to him, her arms open to embrace him on instinct. Sam felt his throat tie itself closed as he wrapped his arms around her smaller frame, tears threatening to squeeze from his eyes again as the scent of her hair caught in his nose. “Oh, sweetheart…”

“How did you find me?” Sam asked. “How did you even know to go looking for me?”

“Your friend Pamela came to see me,” she told him. “I’ll tell you all about it in the car; come on.” Sam nodded, then balked as she started towards the car. When she turned to open the door and saw him standing where they’d been embracing, her brow furrowed. “Sam?”

“No offense, Mom, but… how do I know it’s really you?” he asked.

Mary gave a short laugh, shaking her head. “Well, it’s not like we’ve got all kinds of history to draw on, do we? Things that I’d know about you that the angels wouldn’t, or if they did, there’d be something off to tell you that I’m a creation and not me.”

Sam shrugged a touch helplessly. “And we haven’t exactly been given a reason to trust what we see around here.”

“Fair enough.” Mary came back around the car and crossed to his side. “Pamela… the friend of yours that came to see me? She told me to tell you that your friend Ash has everyone he can find looking for you boys… especially you, given what he’s picking up on his ‘police scanner’?”

It was enough for Sam. Ash was possibly the only person in any Heaven that had not only found a way to hack the angelic communications that most people couldn’t even sense, but he’d also found a way to keep it hidden from angelic senses. If anything could be trusted to signify that Mary wasn’t some illusion created to be bait, it was that Ash had sent her. Without any further hesitation, Sam climbed into the passenger seat of the car as his mother slid in behind the wheel. “Buckle up, sweetheart,” she reminded him.

_That must be what a mom-voice sounds like,_ Sam couldn’t help thinking, giving a short laugh as he obeyed. “Yes, Mom.”

She smiled at him as she started the car again, reaching across the seat to take his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze as the fact that they’d never had such an exchange in life turned his chuckle into the half-breath that came before a sob. “It’ll be okay, Sammy. I promise.”

“What if it’s not?” Sam asked. “I don’t even know where Dean is, or Castiel… and even if I find them…”

“One step at a time, Sam,” she advised gently. “Your father’s out looking for Dean now.”

A sympathetic wince crossed Sam’s face at that. “That… may not exactly go well. Dean’s been carrying around a lot of resentment towards Dad over the past couple years.”

Mary sobered at that, nodding once. “More than a couple years, if I know Dean and your father. But they’ll work through it, Sam. Your father had a lot of flaws, but at heart, he’s a good man and Dean knows that as much as I did.”

They were silent for several minutes, letting the miles roll past them, Sam almost dozing as he let himself soak in the presence of his mother. He hadn’t had a real chance to when he and Dean had traveled back in time to save her from Anna’s attempts on her life, and none of their other encounters with her had been long or real enough for him to get a sense of what it was like to be around her. To truly get a sense of the woman that had given him life, the person that would have raised him if their fates had been kinder.

“I owe you an apology, Sam,” she said after a long spell of quiet. When Sam opened his eyes and looked at her in question, she offered him an almost nervous smile in response. “When I made that deal, I had no idea even who he was or why he wanted access to people’s houses. If I’d known, I would’ve done everything I’d ever been taught to keep him out, deal or no deal.”

It took Sam a dozen heartbeats to find the words he wanted. “You were only nineteen,” he offered gently. “Your parents and the man you loved, all murdered on the same night… I can only imagine what that had to have been like for you… especially since Dean said that Azazel was using your father as a vessel when he made you the offer.”

“Is that his name?” Mary asked. “I never knew. He was just the demon that destroyed my whole world.”

“Why didn’t you try to find out more about him?” The question came out before Sam could stop it, curiosity that had been simmering for his entire life finally coming to the surface. “I mean, you were raised as a hunter. I know you hated it and believe me, I know what it feels like to want to just walk away and leave it all behind, but…”

The way he’d stopped himself was far too telling, even for someone that had never lived to hear even Sam’s first words. Mary brought the station wagon to a stop and parked, though it took her a moment before she could look at him. “But what, Sam?”

“No, forget it,” Sam retreated, knowing what he’d been on the verge of obliquely accusing her of.

Mary let out an irritated breath. “Your father used to do that to me,” she told him tightly. “Say what you wanted to say. You’ve been waiting your whole life to; don’t tell me you haven’t.”

“I didn’t have a family when I walked away,” Sam finally threw out. “Or an open-ended deal with a demon that was set to come due while my kids were still defenseless. If I’d known that Azazel was still after me? Or what he wanted me for? I never would’ve gone within a mile of Jess and I’d’ve been a _lot_ more suspicious of how much Brady changed overnight. I get wanting to have a normal life, Mom, but Dean said this a long time ago and he was right: you can’t not be afraid of the dark when you know what’s in it. So why’d you act like you didn’t when you probably knew as much or more about it than Dean and I have ever learned?”

For a moment, Mary held Sam’s eyes as his questions fell quiet. Finally, she turned back to gaze out at the open road, her slender hands wrapping around the steering wheel and gripping tight enough to turn her knuckles white. “You’d be surprised how often I’ve asked myself that question since that night. When I realized that you’d been his target all along… it was stupid of me to assume that he’d want access to my house for something I wouldn’t care if I lost. Or that the price would be worth having at least your father back alive. But I was wrong, and I didn’t even have a glass of water to bless before I realized that it was him and not your father.”

When she looked back at him, her expression was filled with all self-recrimination Sam had ever seen in the mirror. “I just wanted to live my life, and I forgot that doing that meant I’d have that much more to lose when he came calling. And by the time ten years had gone by… ten years of not having to wash blood and grave dirt out of my clothes and hair… ten years of not having to worry about John finding knives under my clothes or wondering why I hoarded salt or possibly accusing me of cheating on him because I was sneaking out in the middle of the night to the graveyard to burn a body…”

Sam’s huge left hand reached over to cover where her right gripped at the wheel. “It’s okay, Mom… I get it. Better than you might think, because it cost me almost as much as it cost you before I figured it out.”

A deep breath, drawn to force back tears, and Mary nodded. “I wish I could say that I’ll make it up to you… but I never can. Not even here. Not even if you boys choose to stay.”

Confusion made Sam’s brow furrow again. “What do you mean: ‘choose to stay’? We’re dead… the Apocalypse is over. I know that Dean probably won’t trust Michael enough to want to stay in our Heaven on blind faith, but I’m pretty sure that our options are just a bit limited... aren’t they?”

Mary leaned over, giving him a gentle kiss to the forehead before settling back in and starting the car again. “That’s probably something I should let other people tell you, considering I don’t understand it much myself. But Pamela said that Ash’s message was to find you and get you to the Garden. Apparently, there’s someone there that wants to see you boys… someone that this Ash kid seems to think you’ll want to talk to.”

Despite knowing that Ash was far more savvy than his persona led people to believe, Sam couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach as the Axis Mundi began rolling past them once more. “Great… can’t wait.”


	7. Jimmy (a/k/a The Man in the Mirror)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late, gang, especially since it’s another short chapter. RL got in the way yesterday. ♥

~ooooOOOoooo~

Most humans had no idea of Heaven’s layout. Even if they’d read the accounts Enoch had written before his assumption and transmutation into Metatron, those descriptions were still incomplete in order to protect certain mystical secrets from those that would either be driven mad by or seek to misuse them. And even with a resurgence of human interest in the gnostic works of old, there were still relatively few humans that had ever read the complete texts.

The Silver City and its spheres, in which angels had lived from time out of mind when not executing their missions in the service of YHWH, had always been held separate from the fields in which human souls found their final rest. There was only one point at which they intersected, though it was intended more as a neutral meeting point along the border between the two realms than anything else: the Garden.

A nexus between the third level of Heaven and the Fields of the Lord, the Garden was a place where human souls and angels could co-exist, and communicate. Where souls still resisting their death could be eased through the final stages of the transition into peace, and where those whose purpose had not been fulfilled could be returned to their old life or reborn into another, depending on the judgment of Husael.

When Castiel arrived, he was expecting to find Joshua and Husael. To be surrounded by the lush green of life that had not been seen on Earth in centuries, and to have a moment to compose himself before attempting to locate Dean through their bond.

He was not expecting to find that the Garden had shaped itself to resemble the Anderson Japanese Gardens. Or to find the soul of his vessel seated on the rocks beside the pool of a waterfall, his face lost in some contemplative loop as his fingers trailed in the water beside him. Before Castiel could even bring himself to speak, Jimmy looked up at him and offered a gentle smile. “Hello, Castiel.”

Almost transfixed by the sight of the face he’d worn for over a year, Castiel moved to sit cross-legged beside Jimmy, watching as the human’s gaze returned to the clear, shimmering water even before the angel had reached him. “I wasn’t expecting to find you here. After the battle-”

“The slaughter, you mean.” There was a twist of humor in Jimmy’s voice, a wry tug at the edges of his smile. “You gotta admit: we kinda got our asses handed to us back there. Again.”

“No Power has ever been created that could truly stand against the full might of an archangel,” Castiel replied, surprised by how little the observation stung at his pride. It was the truth, and there was no dishonor in it. To have died in the effort of defying such insurmountable odds was, if predictable, at least an outcome that warranted neither derision nor contempt. “Have you been here since we were struck down?”

“I think so.” Jimmy frowned slightly as he tried to think back. “Time’s a little indistinct around here, so I don’t think I can really be sure.”

There was no arguing that point; Castiel knew well that Heaven was a place in which there was no linear progression of time. “Has anyone been here besides you?”

“A few people,” Jimmy confirmed. “At least, I think there’ve only been a few. Probably more than I’ve seen, if I focus on it hard enough. But they’re not here for long before someone comes to take them away again.”

“Angels?” Castiel pressed.

“There’s one that keeps making the rounds.” Jimmy’s face creased slightly in concentration. “Light olive skin, eyes as green as that emerald in that Michael Douglas movie. He meets the humans and the Reapers that come with them, and after he touches the human on the shoulder for a minute, they disappear again. What’s he doing with them?”

“That is the angel Husael,” Castiel confirmed. “He judges whether or not a human soul may pass through to the Heaven prepared for them, or if they must be returned to Earth by either resurrection or rebirth.”

Jimmy looked up in surprise. “Really? Wonder why he’s left me alone then… he hasn’t come near me since I got here.” The surprise he felt was mirrored on Castiel’s face a moment later, and Jimmy couldn’t help letting out a laugh. “That’s never going to not be weird,” he explained as Castiel’s surprise melted into confusion. “Seeing my face looking back at me when I’m not looking into a mirror. I was an only child, you know; never even had siblings that people could make inane comments about how much we looked alike. Certainly never had a twin before.”

“Oh.” Castiel felt a flush of embarrassment, and a moment later, he had returned to the image in which he’d been formed: similar to Jimmy’s appearance, but no longer the exact replica that he’d coalesced back into out of…

Was it habit, born from wearing the same face for such an extended time? Angelic missions to Earth had been increasingly rare since Gabriel had abandoned the Host, and those few that had been necessary had been of short duration. Surely that was the reason; it was a natural conclusion, and logical even, that his self-image had been momentarily affected by how long he’d inhabited a single form.

Somewhere beyond the twining paths through the gardens, there was the incongruous sound of a car door thudding closed. The impossible contrast of the sound with those normally found in this liminal oasis drew Castiel’s wings up into full arch even as he pushed to his feet, hands hovering near the hilts of his blades as he scanned for the source.

Two human souls rounded the corner a moment later, and one of them paused in confusion as the other, younger soul stopped almost mid-step, staring at the angel in a disbelief that seemed caught between relief and horrified recognition.

_Of course I was still wearing his face,_ Castiel realized as the bond sang to life once more. _That’s the face Dean’s grown accustomed to._


	8. All Roads Lead to the Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I’m so sorry! This story was supposed to update regularly because it was completely written, but life got completely out of whack for far too long. I know this chapter technically ends on a cliffie, but I promise I won’t leave you hanging for the next part for ages again! I’m resuming a regular weekly posting schedule for this until it’s completed. Thank you for hanging in there with me!
> 
> I’m also reiterating the trigger warning here for discussions about Samifer’s mutual suicide at the end of Armageddon. Please take care of yourselves while reading.

~ooooOOOoooo~

It was like seeing a ghost from his past. Dean could only stare in mute shock as it registered where he’d seen the angel in front of them before: wings as black as a moonless night, clad in lapis blue silk and silver armor, with eyes like deep sapphires and blades shining like stars in his hands… “Cas?”

A smile crossed that face, so alien and yet so familiar now that he could remember it properly. His stance relaxed, and his arms opened ever so slightly. “Hello, beloved.”

If his father had any reaction to the endearment, it was lost as Dean sprang forward and ran into the arms of his mate. His angel caught him with ease as they collided, Dean clasping Castiel’s body tightly to his only seconds before pulling back enough to frame that slightly sharper jaw into both hands and kissing his mate as if someone would pull them apart at any moment if he didn’t.

When he could finally bring himself to ease back, resting his forehead against Castiel’s, Dean could taste the tears on his lips. Whose they were, he wasn’t sure. All he could be sure of in that moment was their unbroken connection thrumming between them, no longer muted by their separation into different spheres of Heaven after death. He could sense that Jimmy had risen from where he’d been sitting beside the waterfall and moved past them, giving them privacy and likely distracting John with an introduction, but for once, Dean didn’t care what his father or anyone else around them might think. They’d died trying to stop the Devil, and they’d found one another again. That was all that mattered. “Hey, Cas.”

“I’m right here,” Castiel murmured.

“Yeah.” It stuttered out of his throat, a half-chuckle that bordered on giddiness at having one of the people he loved back with him. “Remind me to never try and plan a major offensive when I’m that mad. That plan sucked.”

“You weren’t just angry,” Castiel reminded him. “And given our current state of affairs, I doubt you’ll be called upon to plan much of anything ever again.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it,” Dean countered, finally feeling strong enough to straighten out of Castiel’s space and look his angel in the eyes. At least their color was the same as the ones he was used to, even if the shape and set of them no longer resembled Jimmy’s. “I’m not sure your extended family can exactly be trusted to stay outta trouble.”

“Now there’s the pot calling the kettle black,” John observed dryly.

Dean winced faintly around the eyes, and then willed himself to turn and face his father and Jimmy: the former looking at him with mild reproach and the latter utterly bemused. “Uh… so, Dad… this is Castiel.”

John nodded, extending a hand as he approached them. “So you’re the one that pulled Dean out of the Pit after he sacrificed himself to save Sam.”

“It was only the first of several mutual rescues,” Castiel replied, accepting John’s hand when he drew close enough. “Your son is a good man, and it is my honor not only to have earned his heart, but that he has accepted mine in return.”

“Well, that’s all a man can ask.” John’s grip tightened just a fraction, though it was disconcerting to realize that pressure which ground the bones of normal men had no effect on the angel whatsoever. “But you break his heart, and I’m gonna mount your wings on my wall.”

“Don’t even-”

Dean’s reflexive snarl in defense of his mate was cut off by Castiel’s free hand coming up to brace against his breastbone. “I understand that humans find it customary to threaten the romantic partners of loved ones with violent retribution should their relationship end in a less than amicable parting. But Dean and I are bound in ways that far surpass mortal liaisons, and fortunately, also make the behaviors which cause such ends nearly impossible.” A wry smile drew across the angel’s mouth. “Although Dean has… how do humans put it…? Given it the college try?”

Jimmy laughed, and even John cracked a smile as Dean elbowed Castiel in the ribs just beyond the edge of his breastplate. “Good to know.”

“So what’s the plan?” Dean asked, hoping to move the conversation past topics that made him want to climb into the Impala’s trunk and stay there for a week. “Do we know what happened after Lucifer got his hands on me?”

“Well, after he killed me,” Castiel replied, the casual nature of the words driving Dean to duck under the angel’s arm that had been restraining him and wrap it around his shoulders, “I’ve been informed that they did engage in the battle we’d all been trying to prevent.”

There was something about the way his father’s face became as grim as his own in response to that statement that almost felt reassuring. There had been more than a few times as the Apocalypse had drawn closer that Dean had wished for his father to be there with them. And perhaps he wouldn’t have lasted any longer than Ellen or Jo had, for all that they’d been seasoned fighters in their own right, but there would’ve been some comfort in John’s no-nonsense presence before the end that Dean hadn’t been able to help needing in quiet moments of helplessness. “Do we know who won?” he asked, his tone careful.

“I think I did.” Dean’s head jerked up to see Sam’s bashful face coming around a hidden curve just beyond John, his hazel eyes tilted as he offered a nervous smile. “Technically.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Castiel’s arm fell away from his shoulders as Dean stepped just far enough to catch Sam’s wrist and yank him in for a hug. There was no bond springing back to life as he did so, but Dean let the disappointment of that slip away as Sam hugged him back just as hard as he had when Dean had risen from the grave that first time, a ragged breath leaving their throats in almost the same instant. “What the Hell did you do, you reckless sonuvabitch?”

He could feel the way the muscles of Sam’s face flexed against his own as his brother tried to frame his answer in the least distressing way possible. “I, uh… convinced him that we needed to kill ourselves.”

Dean shoved back out of the hug in shock, staring at Sam with rounded eyes. Even John looked stunned in Sam’s peripheral vision, though his expression softened at the sight of Mary emerging into the clearing they were all gathered in behind him. “You did what now?”

“Once the fight started, one of them had to die,” Sam explained, his shoulders hunching defensively. “I found a way to remind them that they were brothers… I mean, if we’re made to be like them, then deep down, they had to be like us, too, and I figured out how to use it against them. But Michael had already killed Gabriel-”

“Good,” Dean snapped.

Sam threw a pained face at him and continued. “And then they weren’t even paying attention to anything but killing each other. So by the time I got them to remember who they really were and they stopped, it was too late. If one of them didn’t die there, all the forces that were building up around that fight would’ve just torn a hole in the world and all Hell would’ve broken loose in a really bad way.”

“But… how’d you convince Lucifer to kill himself rather than Michael?” Mary asked carefully.

Glancing at his mother, Sam remembered all of a moment that she too was a vessel for the Morningstar. That although she’d never even interacted with Lucifer, there was a part of both of them that would always feel a strange kind of sympathy for the Devil. “In the end, he didn’t want to kill Michael any more than Michael wanted to kill him, but he never would’ve thought of the other way himself; angels aren’t really built to think that way. So I had to be the one to suggest it… that we had a way to make it all stop and not have to kill Michael in the process… and he agreed.”

“With the added bonus of being the only selfless thing the bastard’s ever done?” Dean asked, his disbelief and derision clear in his voice.

Sam met his gaze coolly, with a touch of steel in the narrow slits of his eyes. “It wasn’t selfless, Dean. Remember what Cas said about how, when an angel dies, their grace goes back to God?” Dean nodded, his lips pressed together in an unhappy line. “So instead of finally losing everything and taking it out on the human race, since he blames us for it all, he gets to finally go back to his Father… which is all he ever really wanted deep down anyway.”

“A chance to start over,” Castiel added, his tone sober and almost mournful. Dean glanced back at him, and Castiel crossed the distance between them to take Dean’s hand. “And, if not to be forgiven for his sins, at least to no longer be punished perpetually for them with no opportunity for redemption.”

“Yeah.” Dean took a long breath and released it, looking back to Sam and then at his parents and Jimmy. “So we’re not gonna need to figure out how to keep the Devil from scaling the battlements. Great. That just leaves that righteous sociopath that thinks he’s in charge around here to deal with.” He looked back at Castiel. “How long until he figures out we’re all in one place?”

“He already knows.”


	9. Unexpected Rewards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said weekly, but my neighbor’s husband passed away this week, and they’d both been good friends ever since I moved into my house nine years ago. Hopefully that will be the last swing RL takes at my posting schedule.
> 
> (Who am I kidding? *rolls eyes*)

~ooooOOOoooo~

The Japanese gardens around them vanished as they all spun towards the source of the voice. Joshua stood in a neat semi-circle nearby, along with a blonde woman: hooded and cloaked and even smaller than Mary. “And while he mourns, you have been brought here at the request of the Lady Atropos.”

Sam startled. “Wait… one of the Moirai?”

The cloaked woman stepped forward, one hand pushing back Her hood as She did so. “Yes, I am.” Joshua bowed to Her, vanishing only when She nodded Her dismissal before crossing the distance between them. “Now I hate to break up a family reunion as much as the next person with impossibly co-dependent relatives…” She glanced meaningfully at John and Mary. “But you two need to go back where you belong. I can’t have you unduly influencing their decision, and you will just by your very presence.”

“I think that’s gonna largely depend on what exactly you want with our boys,” Mary returned, her voice so low and threatening that it took Dean aback to hear it.

“They’ve been through enough,” John added, stepping up to stand shoulder to shoulder with his wife. Without even thinking about it, Sam and Dean moved to flank them, Dean at his father’s side and Sam at his mother’s, unconsciously forming a united front against the goddess.

A goddess that promptly rolled Her eyes and gestured. In the space of a blink, John and Mary were both gone, leaving Dean and Sam to drop into more aggressive stances after only a heartbeat of confusion. “They’re fine,” Atropos told them. “I simply returned them to their Heaven, that’s all. They’ve fulfilled their fates, and you two really don’t need a peanut gallery for this.”

“For what?” Dean growled, unwilling to relax just yet.

“You two have absolutely no idea what the repercussions of your actions truly are, do you?” When that earned Her only confusion in response, Atropos unclasped Her cloak and let it fall to the ground at Her feet. Beneath the cloak, She wore a simple sleeveless gown of bone-white that clasped at Her throat. In the crook of Her arm She carried a book bound in leather, with a ribbon woven from golden thread having been used to mark a place in it. Without any concern for the threatening body language that was being aimed at Her, Atropos spread Her cloak out and then knelt on it, placing the book on the ground in front of Her. “See for yourselves.”

Cautiously, Dean and Sam straightened out of their aggressive stances, though neither made a move towards the volume that had been offered to them. Castiel hung back, uncertain of what the brothers’ next move might be and unwilling to test the forbearance of so powerful a deity.

“Oh, fine,” Jimmy finally said. He strode between the brothers to join the goddess on the green, ignoring the half-formed sounds that the Winchesters made in protest. “What’s She going to do?” Jimmy challenged as he picked up the book and opened it to the page marked with the ribbon. “I’m already dead.”

When Atropos only responded with a chuckle and then a mildly expectant look at the brothers, Dean and Sam slowly moved to join Jimmy where he sat, carefully turning the pages and staring at them in consternation. Castiel followed right behind, his wings only partially extended now as he crouched near Dean and peered over his mate’s shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” Jimmy murmured. He finally used the ribbon to return to the marked place, then paged backwards. “There’s writing on everything up to here, but then it just… stops.” He looked up at Atropos. “What is this?”

“That is where all things that must happen are written,” Atropos told them. “Using that book, My Sisters and I guide the fate of all humans. Except…” She reached out, turning the book back to the last page on which anything was written. “This is the point at which the book’s next chapters should’ve appeared. This was the great battle between Michael and Lucifer, in which one would die and one would reign over Heaven, in preparation for the next great war with the Darkness.

“Except the Morningstar being willing to commit suicide was never a possibility,” She continued. “And when something impossible became reality, it disrupted the normal progression of events. We’ll catch up eventually, because Fate and Free Will must be in balance, but the four of you have created completely unbroken paths for humanity to walk. That’s not something to be taken lightly.”

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome.” Dean ignored the wide-eyed expression Sam shot him, unable to control his more sarcastic nature in the face of such a profound revelation.

Atropos shook Her head at him in wonder, a rueful smile on Her lips. “I’m not here to discuss the workload that this kind of reset means or indulge your penchant for clever banter, Dean Winchester,” She told him. “I’m here because I’ve been asked to restore James Novak to life, despite having cut his string over a year ago.”

“By who?” Castiel asked, defensiveness of his loyal vessel rising into his tone.

“By the Christ, who bound James’ soul into its reformed body after Raphael first destroyed it,” Atropos replied matter of factly. “He apparently developed strong objections to the nature of your fates after watching an archangel blast you to atoms, and so He called in a favor.”

Jimmy stared at her, dumbfounded from the implications. From the possibility of going home to his wife and daughter after all that had happened. Sam reached out and placed a supportive, congratulatory hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, then looked at Atropos. “What about us? You said we had decisions to make?”

“Yes, well…” Atropos took the book back from Jimmy with gentle hands, tucking it back against Her side. “You two, and your angels by extension, are responsible for something that should’ve been impossible. After talking it over, Clotho and Lachesis and I have decided to give you two a choice.”

“A choice about _what_?” Dean urged, starting to get impatient.

“You can stay here in your Heaven, as your original fate intended for you to do,” She told them. “With your clever little mulletted friend’s assistance, you know how to leave your Heaven and travel to others, which means that you can visit with lost friends, spend time with your parents like a normal family, indulge your curiosity about men and women from the distant past and enjoy the artistic talents of geniuses long dead.”

“Or?” Sam prompted.

“Or… you can go back.” She met their startled expressions calmly. “Your bodies have been preserved at the Southern Gate by Michael at My request. You’ll be able to return to the world of the living, and possibly have another few decades before returning here for good.”

“What’s the catch?” Dean asked quickly, unwilling to believe that there wasn’t one.

“No catch,” Atropos assured him. “You’ve earned the right to decide, and the next chapters will be written either way.” She paused, then looked Dean squarely in the face. “But you should know that, if you choose to go back, you won’t be left to your own devices.”

“Considering we’ve more than done our bit to hear you tell it,” Dean replied stiffly, “I’d think we’d earned the right to have you guys stay off our backs.”

“You don’t understand.” Atropos placed a hand on the cover of the book. “We don’t _write_ the book, Dean. It writes itself, and you and your brother are perhaps two of the most powerful champions to ever live. It _will_ write you back into the story of the world if you are alive in it. If you stay here in Heaven, others will be found or born that can play the roles required; that’s the way it’s always happened, and you haven’t changed things that much. You can choose to leave those burdens to future champions and claim the rest that you’ve more than earned… or go back, carve out the lives that you’ve been prevented from living because of your destiny, and know that eventually, the fate of all mankind will once again be placed on your shoulders.

She sighed. “Not an easy decision, I know. So We are giving you one full day to consider it.” A glass filled with sand appeared beside them, a fine trickle flowing from the top bulb down into the one beneath. “When the sand in this glass runs out, I’ll return for your answer. Whatever you decide will be granted, and it will be irrevocable. So be very sure of your choice.” Turning Her attention to Jimmy, She smiled. “Time to go.”

“Just a second.” Jimmy scrambled to his feet, as did the brothers, who both returned his hugs of farewell with fierce affection. “If you two decide to come back… well, as far as I’m concerned, you’ll always have a space in our guest room.”

“We might just be around to take you up on that,” Dean answered, smiling as he let Jimmy go.

“Take care of that family of yours,” Sam instructed. “And don’t forget to eat and sleep now that you’re going to be human again.”

“I will.” Jimmy turned at last to Castiel, who was watching the farewells with a grave expression. “You’re a real sonuvabitch, you know… but I’ll never regret it.”

“It was my privilege,” Castiel told him. Closing the distance between them, he reached up with two fingers and touched the center of Jimmy’s forehead. “You will forever be guaranteed a place of honor in the Fields of my Father, for you have gifted us with service, sacrifice and loyalty beyond any we could have asked. Go, and live in peace, James Novak.”

Jimmy offered a watery smile as Castiel’s fingers lifted away. Turning to Atropos, who had donned Her cloak again while he’d been saying his goodbyes and now had a hand outstretched towards him, he reached out to clasp it.

Seconds later, they were both gone, leaving the Winchesters and Castiel alone in the green.


	10. Unstoppable Forces and Immoveable Objects

~ooooOOOoooo~

With what felt like ages to make their decision, Castiel couldn’t begrudge the brothers an hour or so to just sit. The Garden remained a stable landscape now, no longer disguising itself as human attempts to recreate the paradise that was lost to all but genetic memory. He kept watch on the hourglass for them while they lay in the soft carpet of moss beneath a shade tree, their eyes closed and the fingers of their hands almost touching.

What struck Castiel the most was that, despite the bond between the brothers having been broken along with Sam’s bond to Gabriel, he could feel Dean probing at the empty space where it had once pulsed with such life. It was part of his mourning process, surely, to explore the wound and understand the scar it had left behind. Once reconciled to it, the brothers could move on, learning how to maintain the closeness the bond had allowed them to attain without the ease of being able to read each other’s thoughts and feelings.

But Dean normally pretended such wounds didn’t exist; it was unlike his mate to prod at it like a child with a scab.

_*Sam?*_

Castiel let his eyes close as he heard Dean’s thought echo along his side of the bond, wishing that his stubborn mate would do as he was normally wont and leave it alone.

_*Sammy… come on, man… you’re the one with the phenomenal cosmic powers…you can hear me; I know you can… we don’t need that traitorous sonuvabitch. Not for this… this is us. Come on, Sammy… I can’t make this decision by talking this through like we’re in some C-grade Lifetime drama... damn it, Sammy…*_

_He can’t hear you, beloved,_ Castiel found himself saying, unable to bear Dean’s pleas growing more angry and insistent when he knew they would ultimately go unanswered. _The connection you forged with him depended on Gabriel’s bonds to both me and Sam to exist._

 _*No!*_ Dean shoved himself upright, spinning into a sitting position and glaring at Castiel. Sam opened his eyes, face knitting in concern, though he said nothing when he saw the silent exchange between Dean and Castiel. _*I love you, Cas, but this is between me and Sam; I need you to backseat it on this one, okay?*_

Not wanting to aggravate Dean any more than he would be when this failed, Castiel acquiesced with a small gesture, retreating to again listen in the background.

Except this time, Dean didn’t resume his rapid-fire barrage of thoughts towards the place where Sam’s soul had once connected actively into his own. Instead, his eyes closed and he seemed to turn inward… sinking further into himself than Castiel had ever felt Dean go before… snippets of lines from movies and fragments of music floated up from where Dean had disappeared into his own consciousness, almost like mnemonic devices to lead himself somewhere no one could follow…

And then Dean’s shields slid away. All of them. Wall after shimmering wall came down, falling away like so much gossamer suddenly released from a clasp, until the soul of the man shone like the beacon that Castiel had battled into the heart of Hell to save.

_*Come on, Sam… I’m right here…*_

It was in that instant that Castiel understood what Gabriel had meant when he’d said that Sam had a penchant for surprising him. Within the span of a blink, a bright cord of crimson fire erupted into victorious life between them: no longer dormant, neither frayed nor broken. A heartbeat later, it had dimmed and faded from sight, but by then Sam had launched himself at Dean in joy, and they were wrestling in the moss, laughing like the carefree boys they had never been in life, taunting each other through their renewed link and crushing the plants beneath them until the air was thick with the scent of life.

Smiling fondly at the sight, Castiel could sense the other angels gathering nearby, awed by the undeniable evidence of what he’d understood for over a year. He couldn’t begrudge them, after all, so long as they kept a respectful distance. It wasn’t every day that a pair of humans awakened the full potential of one of Clotho’s strings by sheer force of will.

And he could give the brothers a few more minutes to bask in the joy that was their due before reminding them that, even in the eternal present, Time waited for no one.

* * *

By the time both the new connection and the brothers themselves had settled, another half-hour’s worth of sand had slipped into the bottom of the glass. Dean was reclined against the trunk of the tree with Castiel beside him, while Sam lay on his back on the moss and gazed up through the leaves, their shapes unlike anything either had ever seen before. _So whaddyou think?_

 _*To be honest? I’m not sure.*_ Sam sighed and plucked at the moss, then rolled to prop himself up on one elbow and look Dean in the eye. “You heard what She said… we go back and we’re pretty much signing up to get dragged back into something. And knowing our luck, probably worse than what we just _didn’t_ live through.”

“Yep.” Dean nodded almost absently. Castiel could sense there was something that his mate was holding back, though now that their bond was fully functioning, Dean had allowed his natural shielding to reassert itself.

“And it’s not like we’ve really got anything to go back to,” Sam reasoned. “I mean: what? We’ve got no home except the Impala. The only money we really have is the cash we can make hustling or doing the occasional odd job; the rest is all on credit cards that get shut down almost as fast as you can open them up. And as far as the government is concerned, we’re either dead or fugitives on the run from dozens of federal felony charges.”

“That’s true,” Dean agreed. His fingers adjusted their light clasp around Castiel’s hand, shifting to twine with the angel’s. “And it’s not like we’re not getting too old for this crap or anything. I mean, I’m thirty...”

“Thirty-one,” Sam corrected absently.

“... and I’m still in pretty good condition physically,” Dean continued, flipping his brother off but otherwise not acknowledging the statement. “But you and I’ve both been trapped in time loops and skipped around and we’re still feeling those years where it counts, y’know? I mean… everybody keeps saying we’ve earned the right to tap out permanently. Would it really be so bad to actually do it?”

“We’re not the first to have to save the world,” Sam agreed. “Atropos said as much. So it stands to reason that we won’t be the last. And if we could figure it out in time to get something right, whoever comes next can too.”

“Practically anybody coulda figured this out faster than us,” Dean offered deprecatingly. “Anyway: Heaven’s supposed to be like one long show at the Meadowlands when we’re not on the run from the psycho branches of Cas’ family tree, and I think they’ve started to get the idea that we’re not above doing a little calculated pruning if they get too outta hand.”

Castiel made a reproving sound and Dean turned his head, blinking innocence for the half second before Castiel leaned in close and nipped at his jaw in chastisement. “No more of that, beloved… especially if you’re choosing to stay. There won’t be a need for such violence ever again once you pass into your Heaven permanently.”

“Well, okay then.” Dean looked back at Sam, wishing he could change the stab of pain that had gone through his brother at the sight of his open affection with Castiel. _Sammy… it’ll be okay. You’ll forget about the bastard eventually._

 _*It wasn’t what you think, Dean.*_ Sam took a soft breath and then sat up fully. _*It was a trick… on Lucifer.*_

 _You are **not** getting me to fall for his crap again, Sam._ Everything about Dean was obdurate as stone now, his viridian eyes hard as agates. _I trusted that sonuvabitch once on your say-so, and look where it got us! If he hadn’t decided to pull the most underhanded honeytrap in history, whaddyou think the odds are that we might’ve actually found a way to stop Lucifer without all of us dying?_

There was nothing Sam could say to that. Nothing that Dean would believe, no book that had been fortuitously written in third-person omniscient by Christ himself that could show Dean the other side of the story. After a handful of heartbeats, Sam finally nodded in what looked like resignation.

But before Dean could start to frame a segue to redirect their discussion, a single image floated across the bond. Lonely as a red balloon, drawing Dean’s focus and holding it until there was no denying what it was, or what it meant. Dean knew on instinct that it wasn’t some illusion concocted from pure imagination and then made it look like a memory. It was real: as real as the guilt that ripped through Sam like a serrated blade in the wake of dredging it up.

Even if he’d thought Sam capable of pulling such a manipulative trick, forty years in Hell had taught Dean all too well how to know when that kind of pain was real.

“I don’t blame you for being angry,” Sam offered aloud. “After that last trick, you’ve got every right to be. But he put himself through that for me… for _us_... when the very last thing he wanted was to be anywhere near what as going down. If he never wants to see me again after everything that happened, then I’ll accept that, but I can’t just assume that’s how he feels. I need to go find him… if only to say goodbye the right way.”

“That’s presuming he hasn’t already made for the furthest edge of the known universe,” Dean pointed out. “Which is a damned long trip even with our spiffy new non-corporeal forms.”

“Okay, but get this,” Sam countered. “He told me that he gave you to Freyja and the Valkyries for safekeeping when he pulled his trick in Florida… that he would’ve left you there if he could’ve convinced me to let you stay dead, so that neither Lilith nor the angels could get to you. I think that’s gotta be where he went, at least at first.”

“It’s a pretty long bet, Sammy,” Dean argued. “And we’re on a clock.”

“If he’s already moved on, then…” Sam swallowed against the thought. “But I have to try, Dean. No matter how mad you are at him for making you think that he’d been manipulating me all along… I have to try.”

Dean didn’t want to give his blessing. He knew what would happen if he did: either Sam’s heart would be broken all over again because the Trickster had already headed for the furthest-away M-class planet he could find… or they’d make up, and rekindle their relationship as best they could without the mating bond, and Dean would have to learn to bottle away the rage he felt for the sake of his brother’s happiness.

“Will the bonds still work if he’s off in Viking Heaven?” he asked Castiel, holding Sam’s pleading gaze. “So we can warn him if he’s taking too long and needs to get home?”

“The connection can feel muted when one of a bonded pair travels to another realm,” Castiel explained. “I could sense you while I was in the Silver City, but not in the same way that I could once we were both here. But it should be strong enough that you can communicate feelings of urgency, if not actual words or images.” Castiel pushed to his feet, helping Dean up and turning to look at Sam carefully. “You’re sure about this? If you’re wrong… if his betrayal of us was genuine…”

“It wasn’t,” Sam vowed. “I know what I saw, and I know the difference between the truth and one of his illusions. What he said when Lucifer took me over was a trick, and not on us.”

Castiel nodded. “Then come with me.”

* * *

Crossing the Garden took almost no time, even with the occasional pause to stare in fascination at some plant that neither brother had ever seen the likes of before, or the reflexive brace for aggression that neither brother could help when an angel other than Castiel crossed their paths. But once they were within sight of their destination, neither Sam nor Dean could tear their eyes away.

The tree that Castiel guided them towards was so massive that it would’ve taken dozens of people to form a ring around the trunk. Its branches rose in thick, graceful arches towards the sky as far up as either brother could see, the leaves greener even than Dean’s eyes, the scent beneath its boughs so lush that it was almost giddying. Without thinking, almost entranced, Dean reached out, placing one hand flat against the smooth bark.

_It had a language, and it didn’t. It whispered the susurration of deep time into every cell of his body. The march of suns living and dying and exploding and reforming above its canopy. The brilliant dappled light and the endless… endless… endless black…_

And then Dean was on his knees, dragging in air like he’d been drowning as Castiel hovered over him. “What the fuck was that?”

“That is the Tree of Life,” Castiel told him. “Yggdrasil. It can be used as a bridge between realms, but only if you control the interaction. Coming here with no purpose and an open, curious mind…” He shrugged, helping Dean to his feet. “It wants to share what it sees, but it doesn’t understand how overwhelming it can be for someone that isn’t prepared. I should’ve warned you.”

Sam looked back up through the branches, his expression thoughtful. He’d caught the barest edges of what Dean had experienced, and a part of him was immensely curious to know what the Tree could show him if he was ready for the interaction.

But finding Gabriel… finding out if the archangel could ever forgive him… that took priority. After all, if this was truly Yggdrasil, it would still be here when he got back.

“I got a bad feeling about this, Sam,” Dean rasped. “Maybe you should just send him a postcard.”

He could feel Dean’s fear. His protectiveness still the first instinct even now. But Sam could feel the rhythm of its breath. The hum of life itself within its impenetrable bulk.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he assured his brother, one hand reaching out towards the Tree. “I’ll be right back.” Before Dean’s shout of caution could reach his ears, his fingertips touched down.

 _I need your help,_ he told it.

_Recognition. Agreement. A strange, patient eagerness._

And then he was gone.


	11. Kintsugi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The much-awaited Sabriel reunion! I hope it’s been worth the wait, everybody. ♥ I love you all!

* * *

_Floating._

_Not a river. Not a great open expanse of still water. Not even the smooth roll of asphalt or the powerful, incomprehensible glide of an archangel’s wings._

_This was the ebb and flow of life itself. The pulsebeat to which all else was set. The rushing quiet of the womb and the perfect whiteness of silence._

_It should have been frightening. It should have been more than his mind could take. It was the rhythmic roar of the whirlwind and the soundless scream as the riptide dragged the unwary too deep to survive. The shrill of a meteor through the sky and the lethal drift of odorless gas._

_But it was also the muted hum of a mother lulling her child to sleep, the unrestrained shrieks of children at play. The tuneless whistle of an old man content on his front porch and the driving bass of his brother’s favorite song and the insensate echo of lovers’ moans._

_It was life, and he wasn’t afraid. Even when he sensed the question somewhere in the chaotic pattern of it all._

_*Please…* he asked, holding nothing back. Knowing that he would need to choose his words with more care now than ever before. *I need to make everything… right.*_

_Understanding. The words shaping the wish. The gentleness of whalesong in a place so deep that blue and black were the same. Rising as if on the crest of a wave only to then slip beneath its surface, drawn inexorably beyond the empty, bottomless black, until he was no longer sinking but falling, and the safety of the darkness gave way to endless, riotous rainbows of light._

* * *

Oddly, Sam couldn’t help feeling like he was sliding back into a dream as Yggdrasil’s presence receded. As if being engulfed in the Tree’s awareness was the first time in his entire existence that he’d been awake, and now he’d been returned to the worlds one could only walk while sleeping. Only the way Dean’s fear throbbed behind his eyes like a migraine about to burst allowed Sam to pull his focus away from the existential meaning of the experience and take his bearings. He had no idea how much or little time had passed in his journey here, and he couldn’t afford any delays.

“You don’t belong here.”

A long-suffering sigh left Sam as his shoulders drooped and his head dropped back so that he could roll his eyes to the sky in frustration. Practiced ease had his hands up in the air before he’d even taken a step to turn towards the source of the voice, showing that he held no weapons and signaling that he wasn’t here for a fight.

A woman stood nearby, a pair of daggers held just loosely enough in her hands to convey total ease with the weapons. Her hair was caught back in intricate braids and was nearly as red as Gamaliel’s, and her brown eyes were cautious as they swept over him, taking his measure in seconds. She wore leather armor chased with steel in all the important places, and Sam didn’t have to guess at who she likely was.

Before he could offer even a rote ‘I don’t want any trouble’, the Valkyrie sheathed her daggers and stood up from her fight-ready crouch, her expression no longer wary. “Oh… it’s you. I’m Alti; Freyja said you might come.”

Sam startled at that, his hands lowering to his sides as the tension between them eased. “You know who I am?”

Alti nodded, walking briskly to pass him. “She didn’t say that Yggdrasil would let you come through It, but It’s unpredictable at the best of times. Come; Freyja left orders if we ran across you.”

“Where are we going?” Sam asked, turning towards her retreating form but not yet following.

Pausing, Alti turned back to look at him with some consternation. “You _are_ here to find the archangel, right? The one you took for a mate?”

“Uh… yeah. Yes.” Sam half-jogged the few steps to catch up with her, noting almost absently that she was nearly of a height with him, and her strides were long enough to match his own. “Is he… I mean… he’s okay, right? He’s not-”

“Your mate is one of Freyja’s favored,” Alti explained. “He aided Her search for Odr, rather than seeking to woo her away from Her absent husband, and so he’s one of a select few to be granted a place of his own in the fields of Folkvangr, rather than the ever-expanding halls of Sessrumnir.” Sam was about to ask for further explanation, but he’d barely opened his mouth to voice the question before she stopped and gestured towards something across the clearing from them. “There.”

Sam stopped, taking in the picturesque cottage for just long enough to register its existence before his body tried to launch forward again. “Thank you,” he told his guide, restraining his steps barely long enough for her to nod in acknowledgment before he was racing at full speed towards the house, hoping against hope that he would be welcome… “Gabriel?”

The back door opened, and a cap of sunset hair appeared in the doorway seconds before Sam reached it, forcing himself to stop just before the threshold and not just sweep the archangel into his arms.

Golden eyes saw him. Widened in recognition. A smile curled across that generous mouth. “Sam. You _came_.”

All resolve broke. At once, Sam’s body drove forward, his hands catching the archangel’s face as his mouth slanted down over Gabriel’s, the door left standing open for any and all in the realm to see them as Gabriel’s arms wrapped up around Sam’s shoulders and clung with every ounce of strength he’d never brought to bear in their time together on Earth. Sam’s arms wrapped down around him seconds later, hauling the archangel up until it was his mouth devouring Sam’s from above.

Wings unfurled beneath Sam’s fingertips. They were up in the attic bedroom of the cottage in the space of a single flap, and Sam let himself be spun down onto the bed as he slid his fingers up to card through the feathers in the way that never failed to make Gabriel keen against his lips. “Please…”

“Can’t believe you still want me…” Between one caress and the next, their clothes were gone and Gabriel was grinding down against Sam’s erection, a desperation in his voice that he would’ve allowed no one but Sam to hear.

“Haven’t you got that backwards?” Sam gasped, punctuating the question with a stinging bite at the hollow of Gabriel’s collarbone. “After-”

“It wasn’t you.” He pinched one nipple between his teeth, grunting as Sam’s legs fell apart beneath him and he dropped into the cradle of Sam’s hips. Clever fingers teased at the sensitive sac between them before moving further back, and Sam’s head fell back against the eiderdown pillows with a low cry of need. “It’s okay, Sam; it wasn’t you…”

“Gabriel…” All sense of time was gone. Only a sensation of being empty… of being lost and alone and needing to feel him again… “Please, mate…”

A choked sound, almost like a sob, and then Gabriel was kissing him again as he pushed to the hilt in one long thrust. One hand wound into that sunset hair as they rocked together, Sam’s legs wrapping around Gabriel’s waist as they reminded one another that Lucifer was no longer between them.

The first orgasm crashed through them, sudden and sharp enough to almost be painful, leaving them both wrung out and panting as Gabriel came to rest on Sam’s chest and Sam’s legs slipped down to tangle around Gabriel’s flanks.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this,” Gabriel confessed, still breathless despite their being in a realm where they didn’t need to breathe at all.

“Brain-melting orgasms?” Sam asked, letting his fingers trail along the heavy bone at the base of Gabriel’s wing.

“Well… yeah. Okay. Two things I’ll never get used to.” Shifting just enough to prop his chin on one hand, he grinned at Sam as impishly as he had before the reality of Armageddon had sunk in for both of them. “Brain-melting orgasms, because one should never take those for granted… and you not having a heartbeat.”

“Oh… right.” Sam shook his head, looking up at the ceiling and laughing a little before bending one hand up under his head and meeting Gabriel’s eyes again. “So… does this mean that being around me’s _not_ going to trigger you?”

“I was kinda figuring that it’d be you that wouldn’t want me,” Gabriel returned. “What with the whole ‘only loving you because you’re the only human fit to carry the Morningstar’ bit that I had to pull off. It certainly convinced your brother and Cassi… not to mention that Luci would’ve pulled my spine out through my ass if I hadn’t been able to sell it to him.”

For a long moment, Sam was quiet, his free hand tracing the lines of Gabriel’s muscled back, up and over his shoulders before lacing through the archangel’s hair and bringing that mouth to his own for a long, gentle kiss. Gabriel made a quiet, aching sound in the space between their mouths and Sam drank it into his own, only drawing back to look the archangel in the eye when he’d lost track of everything but the taste of mint and strawberries that was uniquely Gabriel.

“I thought you knew by now,” Sam told him gently, holding Gabriel’s head with a grip just firm enough that the archangel didn’t even try to look away. “I can always see through your tricks.”

Gabriel let out a wounded sound that twisted into a laugh. “Yeah… serves me right for letting a genius like you live in one for so long. Gave you a chance to learn all my tells.”

“Gotta keep up with you somehow.” Sam leaned up, tasting his lips again, then settled back and hesitated. “I don’t know if… has anyone told you…?”

“Mikey stopped by to stress bake.” Sam’s eyebrow quirked and Gabriel couldn’t help a light giggle. “It’s a thing he does, and he’s got the best recipe for blackberry shortbread bars this side of Creation.”

“He’s the one that killed you,” Sam reminded him.

“Oh, he definitely spent a while begging for my forgiveness while he was making treats to buy back my affection.” The second eyebrow joined the first in an affronted expression and Gabriel leaned in to steal a quick kiss from lips parting on outrage. “I didn’t say I gave it to him. He’s gotta earn it first, and that’s gonna take a while. But he did fill me in on what happened after he shanked me.” His expression sobered. “And how Atropos and Her sisters reacted.”

Sam took a deep breath. “So you know then.” Gabriel nodded. “I know it’s supposed to be our decision… but you wouldn’t happen to have an opinion about which option you’d like to see us take, would you?”

“I’ve spent quite long enough openly courting a hard smiting from fellow celestials,” Gabriel returned smoothly. “I think I’ll forgo risking the wrath of the Moirai, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Yeah… except here’s the thing: it’s _not_ all the same to me.” Sam stroked his fingers through Gabriel’s hair again, lingering over the sensation of silken hair falling against his skin.

“Well, it’s not like you’re the only one that’s learned tells in this relationship.” Gabriel stretched his wings up, flexing the muscles once before letting them fold back in and vanish. “And how you two feel about the life hasn’t exactly gone unnoticed in the past year or so.”

“Are we really that predictable?” Sam asked wryly.

“Oh, only completely,” Gabriel quipped back before sobering again. “You have to know, Sam… I mean, Freyja made this place for me because She knows that I don’t really belong to my Father’s realms anymore…”

“I know,” Sam interrupted. “Just… does it have to matter whose realm we’re in?”

“Sam…”

“I love you,” Sam told him, pushing the words out and trying to ignore the way Dean kept pulsing in the back of his mind like an irritated phone alarm on vibrate. “And yeah, you did a great job of convincing everyone else otherwise, but I know you still love me, too.”

“With everything I am,” Gabriel promised.

“So what does it matter where we are?” Sam asked. “If I’m yours and you’re mine, doesn’t the only thing matter that we’re together? For however long we have?”

A tiny, trembling moment, the words hanging between them like raindrops. And then Gabriel smiled ruefully. “You are never going to not take advantage of my inability to tell you ‘no’, are you?”

Sam’s answering grin was like the sun coming out. “Only if you’re really not in the mood,” he teased. It earned him a growling groan from the archangel, and a kiss so deep and fervent that it almost distracted him from the swell of renewed arousal where the archangel was still half-buried inside him.

“With you in my bed?” Gabriel asked incredulously against his lips. “Impossible.”

Laughing, Sam shifted his legs until he had the leverage to roll them, sinking down until their hips were flush. “Good to know.”

It was slower this time, the fervor of reunion melting into the sweetness of reassurance. Everything and nothing had changed between them, and Sam couldn’t help letting himself revel in the way Gabriel’s eyes devoured him as he rode the archangel in long, sensual rolls of his hips. In the dizzying rush of knowing that he was truly, still, perpetually _wanted_. In the passionate worship of the ArchHerald of God.

How long they rocked together, Sam didn’t know. Didn’t care. Thoughts of Atropos’ deadline were far away as Gabriel surged up, hands framing Sam’s hips where the scars of their first mating should’ve been as the archangel came up to his knees beneath him, Sam’s world tilting around him as Gabriel tipped him backwards and set up a heavy, deep cadence that drove out everything but the way they fit together… the way they belonged to each other… the archangel’s name a litany on Sam’s lips as he found the angle he wanted… he could feel it… the thrum of grace restrained… the way it broke against the wall between them like a raging tide, seeking the places it had once called home.

It drove a frustrated moan from Sam’s throat as he wrapped one arm around Gabriel’s shoulders and pulled himself back up, the archangel somehow managing to hold them upright until Sam’s back was against the wall. The other arm slung around so that his hand could tangle into Gabriel’s hair, tugging just enough to make Gabriel’s grace spark beneath his skin and those sharp teeth nip at Sam’s lower lip. “Sam…”

“Give it to me,” Sam growled, returning Gabriel’s biting kisses with a few of his own.

“We can’t,” Gabriel ground out. “You know that… not after…”

“He doesn’t get to win,” Sam snapped. His muscles flexed where Gabriel was buried inside him and it tore a ragged sound from the archangel, his control over his grace wavering under Sam’s hands. “You’re mine…”

“Mine.” It was a snarl in the back of Gabriel’s throat, and then Sam was on his back and Gabriel’s hands were holding his hips and he was slowing down… long, slow, deep drives that were as much to torment Sam’s prostate as they were to let him get his grace back under control…

Sam took Gabriel’s face in both hands and drew him down, melding their lips into a kiss so open and artless that he felt Gabriel’s grace shudder in response. “Mate… please… I want you back...”

The words sundered the last of Gabriel’s restraint, his grace breaking through the shield he’d erected to contain it and flooding into Sam at every point of contact. Sam arched in Gabriel’s hands, a long cry breaking in his throat as his climax slammed through him in response… searing through his veins like wildfire… and somewhere beyond it, a shocked Enochian oath that melted into something like weeping as Gabriel fell over the edge with him…

By the time Sam’s senses had ordered themselves again, Gabriel was beside instead of above him. The sated smile on his face melted into a frown of concern as he turned his head and took in the shaken expression around Gabriel’s wet eyes. The way his fingers lingered along the edges of a mark on Sam’s hips that hadn’t been there before, his lips trembling around a smile that was caught between disbelief and joy. “Gabriel?”

“It’s impossible.” The words were hushed, as if speaking above a whisper would somehow undo it. “Just the exposure to my grace should’ve torn you apart… not…”

Sam’s head cocked in confusion as he rolled onto his side to more fully face his mate, a question hovering on his tongue…

And then he felt it. His eyes went wide as saucers as Gabriel’s smile broke into a grin, pure elation pulsing through into Sam’s mind as clearly as anything ever had. _Can you hear this?_ Excitement began bubbling in Sam’s chest and he sat up, Gabriel following the motion with an expression rapidly turning giddy. _Mate?_

_*It’s back…*_ Awe. Reverence. A trickle of disbelief, overwhelmed by the dawning realization that it was real. _*It should be impossible… the traces of Lucifer’s grace should’ve… Sam, they’re not there. How did you do that?*_

“I don’t know.” The words came out aloud, Sam being almost too stunned to use the bond for fear it was a trick of his mind. “Maybe because he died?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No… even grace reborn is still tied to the vessels it was made to fit into. Even him destroying himself shouldn’t have scrubbed them out.” Sam’s eyes went round and Gabriel’s spine prickled. “Sam?”

“Yggdrasil,” Sam said. “I used It to come here from the Garden… It wanted to help… could It have…?”

The very idea rocked Gabriel back on his heels, his eyes lost as he turned it over in his mind before looking back up at Sam. “It’s insane… but I’m pretty sure that’s the only possible explanation.” Slowly, the grin crept back across Gabriel’s face, mirrored by one on Sam’s. “I’d say we owe It an eternity’s supply of Miracle-Gro.”

A guffaw broke past Sam’s lips, and he let himself drop onto his back on the bed again, his arms wrapping around Gabriel as the archangel followed him down. “I’ll say… but I’m thinking we should probably get back to the Garden before we get distracted again. Atropos only gave us a day to decide, and I don’t know how much of that was lost in my trip here.”

Sharp teeth worried briefly at Gabriel’s lower lip, and then he met Sam’s eyes, his own betraying an anxiety that only Sam had ever been allowed to see. _*Dean and Cassi aren’t going to like it… I mean, it’s not like Dean’s ever forgiven me for **any** of the tricks I’ve pulled on you two, but-*_

_They’ll come around,_ Sam insisted. _You did it for me. If anyone ought to be able to understand that, it’s Dean. And Cas might be stubborner than God Himself, but if Dean comes around, then he’ll find a way to get Cas on board._ He felt the pulse of skepticism from Gabriel and pressed a reassuring kiss to his mate’s lips. _It’ll be okay, mate… I promise._

A long moment passed before Gabriel nodded his acceptance of his mate’s assurances, followed by a regretful sigh. “I suppose that means we have to put clothes on.”

Another laugh barked out of Sam’s throat, and then he was urging Gabriel to his feet and standing up himself. “It won’t be anything Dean or Cas haven’t seen before, but Atropos might not be all that receptive to being greeted by a naked archangel… no matter how nice the view is.”

A laugh and a snap and they were dressed again, Gabriel’s sardonic humor starting to surface from beneath grief he hadn’t been sure he would ever recover from. “Normally I’d take that as a challenge, but since I’ve already died once this week, we can do it your way.” Sam quirked an eyebrow at him and Gabriel responded with a winsome smile. “Come on, gorgeous… we need to send word to Freyja that we’re finally going on our honeymoon before we go hook back up with that irritable brother of yours.”


	12. Choosing a Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter count went up. I realized that I’d accidentally put the end of this story in the files for the next installment, but that’s fixed now.
> 
> Also, adding the disclaimer here that Elua technically belongs to Jacqueline Carey, but I borrowed him because I needed him. Still not making any money & own nothing but a cranky tabby boi. ♥

~ooooOOOooo~

Just as predicted, when Dean caught sight of Gabriel returning at Sam’s side, it drove a snarl from his lips. “Sam…”

 _*Dean, wait… before you flip out, just…*_ Sam held up one hand as he approached his brother, Gabriel sensibly staying a few feet away. _*Just… look, okay? Just look.*_

It took a moment for Dean to find it. Another for him to realize what it was, and then he turned to stare at Castiel, who had sensed the renewed mating bond at once. “I thought that was impossible.”

“It should be,” Castiel concurred. “Gabriel, what have you done?”

“Wasn’t me, bro,” Gabriel returned, his voice polished smooth to cover his anxiety. “Best we can figure, Yggdrasil scrubbed Luci’s leftover grace out of Sam’s veins during his trip over to Folkvangr.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to just walk back in like nothing happened,” Dean snapped.

“ _I_ give him the right,” Sam challenged, drawing Dean’s furious gaze back in his direction. “It’s not your decision now any more than it was the first time he and I mated, Dean… and before you start in on him: remember what I showed you.”

Whatever Dean’s initial response to that might have been, he had to visibly force it away from his lips. It was done, and if he’d thought it impossible, so had the rest of them. And Dean knew Sam too well to try and convince himself that a reconciliation between his brother and Gabriel had been anything but a virtual certainty. Not when the archangel had given up a chance to stop the Apocalypse from ever getting off the ground when confronted with a pleading Sam!face. “Yeah, well… nobody’s actually supposed to like their in-laws, right?”

Something in Sam deflated at that, but before either brother could address it, Castiel touched Dean’s shoulder and pointed at the hourglass. “Dean.”

Their heads turned towards the object, including Gabriel’s. The last grains of sand in the hourglass spilled through the funnel and slithered into place on the pile in the bottom bulb as they watched, and then Atropos was stepping into view from behind it as if She’d been there the entire time. “Hello again, boys.” She turned Her attention briefly to Gabriel, strangely unsurprised by his presence among them. “I see that worked itself out.”

Dean startled at the implications of that statement. “Wait… You knew that-”

An enigmatic smile hovered around Her lips, making Dean’s teeth grind in frustration. “Yes… although there was no guarantee that Sam would find the right words to allow Yggdrasil to cleanse the remnants of Lucifer’s grace from his soul. That was something of an x-factor.” She removed her cloak and draped it over the hourglass, causing both to vanish. “Creation likes things to be balanced, Dean… and It doesn’t really care about human opinions on how that should be achieved.” Gabriel’s chuckle in response to that statement made Her smile twitch in amusement, and then She let out a breath. “Now… I believe you were both to come to a decision?”

“We have,” Sam affirmed.

“But there’s a little codicil we want added in before we close this deal,” Dean added. It drew a startled expression from Sam, but Dean brushed it off and stepped past his brother to stand between Sam and Atropos, whose eyebrow had quirked in response to that statement.

“Is that so?” She replied mildly. “And what precisely is that?”

“Bobby Singer,” Dean told her. “He was in the thick of it right along with Jimmy and the rest of us, and if we’re all getting our just desserts for pulling off the impossible, it ain’t fair to leave him out of the bargain.”

“Have you considered the possibility that he’s happier where he is?” Atropos countered. “After all, he’s spent his entire life fighting: his abusive father, his own fears, and then countless demons and shadow creatures after the death of his wife. He may not welcome being given the choice that you’ve been offered… and your asking could be seen to be motivated by your own desires, rather than purely out of concern that he receive rewards equal to your own.”

Something in Sam hardened at that. “It’s not about us one way or the other,” he told Her stiffly. “Dean’s right: Jimmy got to go back because Christ decided He owed him one, and you’re giving us the choice. It’s not fair to not at least offer Bobby the same chance.”

A moment passed. Another. There was a flicker of sardonic mirth in Her eyes as She held their challenging gazes, and then She gave them a smile worthy of the Trickster archangel beside them. “Bold of you to presume that I haven’t already.” A ripple of shock went through the brothers even as Gabriel burst out laughing. “Just as your choice couldn’t be contaminated by others’ influence, neither could his have been. But rest assured, his role was far from overlooked, and you’ll know what his decision was once I have yours. Now… if you don’t mind? I haven’t an eternity to spend bantering with you two.”

Exchanging a glance towards their angels, Sam and Dean looked at each other one last time. _*You’re sure?*_ Sam asked.

 _As long as you are,_ Dean sent back.

Sam nodded once, and they both turned back to the waiting Moirai, answering in one voice:

“Send us back.”

* * *

It wasn’t, of course, just as simple as a snap of the fingers, even for a goddess. Nothing ever was, for the Winchesters or the angels that loved them.

As promised, the brothers’ physical bodies had been preserved at the garrison of the Southern Watchtower. But Jimmy having been gifted his life back presented a problem just as thorny as Loki’s refusal to grant Gabriel use of his golem Vessel now that the arrangement between them had been exposed.

“James and Claire are the strongest of my vessels’ bloodline,” Castiel explained as they settled into the private meeting room at the garrison that Temaniel, the keeper of the gate, had offered them to discuss the situation. “There are others I could ask, but it presents the same issue that Lucifer faced in Nick’s body. Even with the human soul housed inside them to help, my presence would eventually destroy the physical form of my host.”

“That’s beside the point anyway,” Gabriel put in. “Possessing a human Vessel imposes limitations that would get us both killed, considering the number of enemies we’ve both managed to make in the past few years.”

“Limitations?” Sam’s curiosity was lighted in an instant, eager for answers about the nature of angels that there had been no time to ask about before the Apocalypse. “I thought the whole point of Michael and Lucifer needing to wear Dean and me to the prom was because we’d give them maximum firepower.”

“They would’ve had even more if they’d confronted each other in their pure form,” Gabriel added. “Every single angel is, at our core, a multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent. Taking on form of _any_ kind limits us, but in Heaven and the other celestial spheres, we’re not bound into those forms and can shift between them at will to suit the needs of whatever mission we’re on.

“So you gotta ask yourself: why make them take human vessels for the big showdown at all?” Gabriel continued. “Why force the fight into a physical realm where it would put limits on the amount of power either can wield during the fight?”

With a glance at Sam, Dean’s mouth drew into a thin, white line of anger as he remembered, through the haze of the enchantment that had ended with his mating to Castiel, the crow of triumph in Lucifer’s smug voice. “Because the damage would’ve been even worse. In the two of us, they just tear a single planet apart. Up there, they’d’ve flipped off the lights to whole star systems.”

“Exactamundo.” Gabriel grinned at the elder human despite the glare he got in response. “And while I was running around as Loki, the higher beings, demons and shadow creatures I left a little brassed off by my tricks didn’t dare come after me. Now that they know I’m not Him, it’ll be open season the minute I touch down… especially if I do so by locating someone in my vessels’ bloodline and ask to take up residence. Plus Cassi here hasn’t exactly been letting the moss grow when it comes to making enemies. Our angel siblings aren’t the only ones that have an axe to grind with him.”

A connection suddenly linked itself in Sam’s mind, and his eyes lit up. “Wait… your siblings… including Abbi and Mal.” Gabriel returned his excited expression with a question, and Sam gestured as if the correlation should’ve been obvious to his mate. “They weren’t in human vessels. Their vessels were like yours: they could manifest wings and their armor and everything.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened at that, the discrepancy suddenly thrown into sharp relief. “You’re right… they weren’t part of my deal with Loki; they didn’t even know about it, because if they’d known, Michael could’ve peeled it out of their minds when he went looking for me.”

“So where’d their vessels come from?” Dean chimed in. “If Loki made yours, who made theirs?”

A measured glance passed between the two angels, neither speaking for a moment as they weighed the options as to who might have done it. “You think?” Gabriel finally asked.

“It had to have been done very quietly,” Castiel replied. “Who else had the power, the means, the privacy and the empathy?”

“Whoa, there,” Dean cut in. “The oblique non-referential conversation thing is cute and all, but Sammy and I’re done with the whole pronoun game. Who are you two talking about?”

“The son of Yeshua and the Magdalene,” Castiel told them. “Elua. Just as the Olympian demigods had a place with the deities that spawned them, so does Elua have a place of his own in the Silver City. The angels that are devoted to him are most protective, but Camael and Gamaliel were always close; he might have made arrangements for Gamaliel to meet with Elua discreetly, and Elua could have created the vessels he and Abariel used.”

“And where exactly was this Elua dude when the Apocalypse was going down?” Dean demanded. “Or was he too chicken-shit to get his hands dirty?”

“On the contrary, Dean,” came a voice from behind them. They spun to see Michael standing in the doorway to the chamber, his expression careful but stern. “Father’s abandonment of Heaven caused many to consider flocking to Elua, seeking that he should rule in Father’s place. I could not chance an insurrection in his name, and ordered him confined to his own court. Shemhazael and Camael agreed to carry out my orders, since barring the Host from entering his presence also meant that they wouldn’t be required to take part in another internecine war.”

A dozen retorts hovered in Dean’s mouth, warring with themselves over which was the best way to splash more acid contempt in the archangel’s face…

Until he saw how Michael was looking everywhere but at Sam. How those nut-brown eyes would flicker towards the younger Winchester and then flinch away, the corners cracked and tight from grief.

In this war, even Michael was more victim than volunteer.

His peripheral vision caught the way all of the others braced when he stood, crossing the room to stand before the archangel that he’d been made to mirror. Michael met Dean’s eyes calmly, with neither fear nor reserve, a thousand shields between the human and what the archangel was trying so desperately to hide.

Dean saw it all anyway, because he was an expert in all of the ways Michael was trying to hide it.

“Will he help us?” Dean asked, surprised that he couldn’t hear the strain of how hard it was to strip all hostility from his voice. “Like he helped the Trickster’s two cronies?”

“I see no reason why not,” Michael told him, his own voice matching the neutrality in his Vessel’s. “Elua has never taken sides in our family’s wars. He is… surprisingly gentle, given his lineage.”

“Then I say time’s a-wasting.”

Michael nodded. Without giving an inch of ground, he made a gesture, and another angel in bronze armor and garnet silk appeared in the hall just beyond where he and Dean faced one another. “Midael will escort the four of you to his keep.”

“And why exactly can’t he come here?” Dean challenged.

“Even before his confinement, Elua seldom left the haven Father created for him,” Castiel answered, rising to stand beside Dean and head off a confrontation. “You’ll understand better when we get there, but believe me, Dean: if Michael attempted to use Elua as bait for some kind of trap, there would be a rebellion among the Host matched only by the one Lucifer mounted.”

A beat passed. Another. Dean finally risked glancing away from Michael to take a measure of his mate’s assurances, though the steady pulse along their bond spoke volumes of Castiel’s surety. “Sammy? You wanna weigh in on this?”

“It’s okay, Dean.” Sam let his own confidence flow along the bond, and with it, understanding. Michael’s face, broken by grief while Lucifer had lain dying in his arms. The depth of the archangel’s guilt, and, with this offer, the first hints of a desire to atone for his part in the disaster that had befallen them all. All things Dean understood. All things he’d experienced himself, at one point or another in the past few years.

It didn’t mitigate the mistrust. But it let him accept Castiel and Sam’s assessments that Michael wasn’t angling for a shot at revenge.

“Okay then,” he finally agreed. “Let’s go see what this guy’s got on offer.”

* * *

When they arrived at the entrance to Elua’s keep, an angel in burnished copper armor was there to greet them. Dean almost barked out a laugh when he saw that the angel’s peacock aqua hair was spiked up into a mohawk, though it was only quashed by the eyebrow that arched in a not-quite-menacing fashion at their arrival. “I heard you were bringing them here, Dae… didn’t think it was actually true, though.”

“I go where I’m ordered,” Midael replied, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Shem’s inside?”

“Elua asked for him when Michael lifted the confinement orders,” Camael confirmed. “He also said you should wait here with me; he doesn’t want them under armed escort while they’re here.” A glance of sunset orange eyes at Gabriel, a respectful nod, and then the angel’s gaze focused on Castiel. “It’s been a long time since you were last in these halls, brother.”

“I’ve been otherwise occupied,” Castiel replied easily, ignoring Dean and Sam’s sharply curious expressions. “I’m glad to see you looking well, Camael.”

“Guard duty’s boring, but it keeps you healthy.” Camael shrugged, then turned and touched a hand to the wall he’d been standing against. The seamless surface shifted and opened at his silent command, revealing a portal of pure light. “You can go in.”

Taking Dean’s hand, Castiel sent his mate a reassuring pulse through the bond. “Come… he’s waiting.”

A glance at Sam, and then Dean followed Castiel through the doorway, steeling himself for the spring of the trap…

It never came. A carpet of flowers that stretched as far as they could see in any direction greeted them as their vision cleared: lavender and anemones, paper-whites and hollyhocks and tiny shy violets. Bees floating lazily from one blossom to the next, unperturbed by the butterflies that flittered amongst them. The only interruption in the green was a path of soft white sand, winding towards a point beyond a hill on which the brilliant crimson of the anemones gave way to a wave of deep purple irises.

“How far we gotta walk, exactly?” Dean asked, thrown by the quiet serenity that seemed even to outstrip the Garden’s.

“He’s not far,” Castiel assured him, starting to walk forward. Dean took a step to follow and then stopped, letting out a startled oath that caused his mate to turn back around. “What is it?”

“Where the fuck’re my shoes?!?” Dean demanded. Gabriel let out a full-throated laugh at the hunter’s dismay, which only added to the affronted expression Dean was now sporting.

“You won’t need them here,” Castiel replied, gesturing to his own now-bare feet. “Elua is… implacable, shall we say, when it comes to certain things.”

“He’s gonna find out about implacable if I step on a goddamned bee,” Dean muttered darkly, taking careful steps to close the distance between himself and his mate.

“It’s not like we’re actually in physical form here, Dean,” Sam reminded his brother. “Not like on Earth, anyway. And the bees around here clearly have better things on offer than a patch of sand.”

Unintelligible grumbling was Dean’s only response, but even that gave way to a silent awe of the soft, clean wild around them, and the scent of rich spring flora that soaked into their every sense. They reached the hill after only a few minutes and followed the path around it, descending into a lush valley nearly encircled by the kind of soft, shadowed woods that might’ve been straight out of a Beagle novel.

Standing near an ancient tree, surrounded by dozens of bees but seemingly unconcerned by them, was a man. His bare arms were densely muscled, the sunlight glistening off the slick honey that clung to his hands and forearms as he worked, and the cornflower blue tunic he wore sported darker patches in the places where he’d come into contact with the overflowing hive. His skin was nearly as dark as the trees among which he worked, and his long, mahogany hair was unbound.

“I’ll just be a moment,” Elua called out to them: the first sign that he was aware of their arrival. “They’ve outgrown the hive and it needs to be moved, but the queen doesn’t want to leave yet.”

“Allow me.” Stepping forward with a careless grace that made Dean’s entire body brace, Castiel joined Elua at the hive and peered inside. A dozen heartbeats passed in silence, and then Elua was withdrawing his arm with a pleased smile on his face, his hand cupped to cradle the recalcitrant queen.

“Thank you, old friend.” Elua carried the queen to another tree and placed his hand near the edge of a hollow, allowing the insect to move off his palm and into the new prospective nest at her own pace. “You’ve always been better with them than I am.”

“The purity with which they devote themselves to their purpose is admirable,” Castiel replied. “You look well.”

“As do you.” Elua let his eyes flicker to the Winchester brothers and Gabriel, and a wry smile drew across his face. “Being so well loved agrees with you.”

“In many ways.” There was no trace of embarrassment in Castiel’s face at the implications in Elua’s tone. “May I introduce them?”

“I already know Gabriel, of course.” Elua strode forward, closing the distance between he and the archangel in moments and reaching out to clasp Gabriel’s hands in greeting. “It’s been an age.”

“More than,” Gabriel confirmed.

Absinthe eyes focused, intent and steady, and then Elua nodded. “But you’re not here to catch up… nor should you be, given what’s happened.” He released Gabriel’s hands and turned to look from Sam to Dean and back again. Those bright green eyes seemed to read them both in moments, finally settling on Dean with something like a decision behind them. “I’ll need some help, once the vessels are made,” he informed them. “Dean, will you come with me?”

“Depends on where exactly we’re going,” Dean answered, mistrust clear in his voice.

“There’s another clearing not far from here with the raw materials I’ll need.” Elua gestured into the forest. “And I’ll need help carrying them back.”

“Why don’t all of us go?” Sam asked, his curiosity piqued. “That way Gabriel and Castiel can just step right into them once they’re formed, and-”

“We can’t do that until we’re on the other side of the gate,” Gabriel informed his mate. “Physics only bends into so many pretzels, even up here.”

“I know you’re curious about the process, Sam,” Elua told him. “And another time, I’d be happy to show you. But it’s Dean that I need for the moment, and this is far from the last time you and I will meet. Some other time, when we have more leisure, I’ll happily indulge your love of knowledge for as long as Gabriel will allow me to monopolize your attention.”

“You’re not separating us,” Dean snapped, his unease clear.

Those absinthe eyes slid back to him, so quiet in their appraisal that Dean almost reached for a weapon he didn’t have…

A ripple of shock went down Dean’s spine as he felt the familiar weight of the demon-killing athame in its sheath, strapped to his hip like it had been there all along. In that moment of surprise, Elua reached one hand across the space between them and took the knife, then held out the other and drew the blade across his own palm before Dean could finish his yelp of protest.

Blood spilled in a ribbon across his palm before he closed his fist and turned it. Four fat droplets gathered and fell from the base knuckles, absorbing into the dirt beneath their feet. In the places where they’d fallen, four scarlet anemones sprang fully formed into life, and Elua bent and plucked them from the soil, then passed one to each of them. “My grandfather’s Heaven may be bloodless,” he told them, “but I am not. These are my oath to each of you: I vouchsafe your protection while you are in my haven, and vow that you may all leave this place whenever you wish.”

Visibly shaken, Dean looked from the anemone, to Elua, to his brother, to Castiel. He still couldn’t look at Gabriel for confirmation. Not with so much raw fury towards the archangel still trying to settle under his skin. But by the time he was looking back at the demigod, the flower in his hand as warm as if it had been growing beneath the sun all morning, there was a wary willingness to accept the word of a man whose blood ran as red as his own.

“Can I have my knife back now?” was all he said.

Elua smiled, flipped the blade until the flat was against the underside of his arm, and extended it to Dean. “Of course.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes: the chapter count was changed again. I messed up the count when I reworked things last time. 😅
> 
> Yes: this is the last chapter. There’s one more story in this ‘verse that was planned, but this particular installment of the ‘verse is finally coming to a close.
> 
> Thank you to everyone that has stayed with me through this remarkable journey!

~ooooOOOoooo~

By the time they’d stopped walking, Elua had led Dean to a clay bed deep in the woods. They hadn’t spoken in all that time, and Dean’s sharp watch of the other man had yielded nothing that he could make sense of. There was a serenity in Elua that Dean couldn’t fathom; that seemed at total odds not only to the experience of his entire life but also with his experience with celestial beings. Nothing about this man felt hidden: no agenda tucked up his sleeves or secrets at the edges of his placid smile. He was the calm surface of a lake on a clear day.

But Dean hadn’t trusted anything that looked calm on the surface since he’d been five years old.

“Here we are,” Elua said finally, rolling up his sleeves.

“So this is what angel bodies are made from when they’re not burrowed into some unsuspecting sap’s skin?” Dean asked, his tone more acid than he’d necessarily intended.

“And humans’, too,” Elua told him. “Or do you still doubt the old tales?”

“We ain’t here to discuss how much more there is to Heaven and Earth,” Dean snapped. “We’re here so you can make Cas and Gabriel bodies that they won’t get killed in when we go home.” He gestured vaguely to the clay beneath their feet. “So let’s… just… do what you gotta do and get back.”

“It’s not so easy as a snap of my fingers, Dean,” Elua chided softly.

Dean’s eyes rolled. “Of course not; it never is with these things. Just hurry up, wouldja?”

Shrugging, Elua gestured for Dean to sit down before selecting a stick that had apparently fallen from a nearby tree. He began making strange markings in the clay bed, barely scratching the surface. “I’m curious, Dean: I know things are much changed on Earth since I lived there. To what do you return, when you go back?”

“None of your business,” Dean replied, eyeing the marks as they were made, trying to catch one he recognized. They bore a vague resemblance to the symbols used to create a golem, but only barely.

Elua was silent for a moment in response to that, then smiled. “I thought so.”

“You thought what?” The cryptic remarks were far past beginning to wear on Dean. All he wanted was to go home, to take his family somewhere he could keep them safe. Someplace where they could see the bastards coming.

“Home isn’t a place; it’s your flock. It’s wherever you can keep them all together and safe. The language of your love is protection; it has been since before you were old enough to remember it.” Elua was still smiling as he made a final series of marks in the clay. “It’s been a long time since I read another human; nice to know I still have the trick of it.”

“Listen, asshole,” Dean snarled, rising to his feet and half-charging across the space between them. “I’ve had it with all of you: Heaven and Hell and every inhuman sonuvabitch in between deciding it’s fun to fuck with my family. So you want something to read? Get a subscription to the Wall Street Journal and keep your creepy observations out of my and Sammy’s heads. We’re here because Cas and Gabriel trust you to give ‘em bodies that’ll work right once we get landward, and that’s it.”

Unphased by Dean’s hostility, Elua’s eyes were clear and steady as they met Dean’s furious gaze, his stance reminding Dean of a rock that stood unmoving in the midst of whitewater rapids. Something connected with Dean’s face; it took a moment to realize that it was Elua’s hand: cool and callused and gentle. One thumb brushed the arch of Dean’s cheek, as if wiping away tears Dean absolutely wasn’t shedding. “It’s almost over,” Elua promised him. “They’re almost safe… which means, of course, that now is when you’re most afraid.”

A breath stuttered in Dean’s chest, breaking in his throat. Tears were filling his eyes that he blinked away before they could blur his vision, his chest suddenly tight as the words struck truer and deeper than he wanted to admit.

“You have no reason to trust me, or anyone else outside your flock,” Elua acknowledged, his hand moving from Dean’s cheek to his shoulder as the demigod closed the distance between them by another small step. “Hardly surprising, since you’ve been given ample reason for your mistrust. And that’s not likely to change until you’ve healed the divisions within your flock, either.”

“What the Hell’s that supposed to mean?” Elua gave him an indulgent smile, and Dean backed away, shaking off Elua’s hand with an angry sound. “That’s none of your business, either.”

“Perhaps, for your sake, it’s time someone else made it their business.”

“Look, just make the damned bodies, all right?” Dean hated the way he sounded: almost desperate to hide, rather than imperious. “One for Cas and one for the double-crossing bastard Sammy’s mated to. I got used to him before and I can do it again.”

Elua’s expression was mild as milk. “Why should you have to ‘get used’ to anything? Accepting Gabriel’s presence in your flock is a gesture of ultimate trust; if he’s unworthy of such a privilege, then you should require him to become so.”

“Can’t change an angel’s feathers,” Dean quipped. “Even he couldn’t, in the end, hiding inside a god’s vessel and pretending to be something he wasn’t. A dick with wings, just like all the rest of ‘em.”

“Including Castiel?”

The light observation made Dean flush. “Only if we’re talking double entendres.” It sent a laugh barking out of Elua, and Dean almost caught himself smiling. “Look, I don’t care, okay? Sammy loves the guy, and there ain’t no me if there ain’t no Sam. So what Sammy wants, Sammy gets.”

“But therein lies the entire point,” Elua argued gently. “This is no longer about feigning a grudging concession to let Sam have the last of the cereal because you don’t want him to notice it’s the only food left. These are your mates, Dean. Your anger is justified, but just shoving it down and allowing it to fester will only drive Sam to try and solve the problem by putting a physical separation between you… something that will hurt both you and Sam more in the long run than anything Gabriel could do on his own.”

“We’ve done it before,” Dean countered. “And Sammy was just fine with it. Four years’ worth of fine with it.”

“Was he?” Elua watched Dean’s eyes narrow at that and the tips of his smile turned just faintly sad. “You never looked, did you? Because you’ve always been so sure of what you’d see. And it’s the same now, with Gabriel. You can’t bring yourself to look further than Sam’s love for him, because you’re so certain that you’ll find Sam is the only reason Gabriel is even involved. That you don’t factor into the equation at all for him, the way Sam does for Castiel.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Dean snapped, anger building back into his veins.

“Exactly that,” Elua answered placidly. “Castiel’s neither stupid nor lacking in observation, Dean. If he didn’t know when you mated, it wasn’t long before he understood how truly inseparable you and Sam are, and therefore exactly how largely Sam would figure in your lives together. That to love you is to love your brother, because to be unable to do so would be to lose your love eventually.

“It’s the same with you and Gabriel,” he continued. “To accept Gabriel as one of your flock, especially as Sam’s mate, means that he’s someone you have to be willing to protect. To be willing to trust him with Sam, the most precious thing in your life. You trust Castiel with Sam, and you trusted Gabriel with him after Gabriel put his life between Sam and Lucifer. And then he made you believe he’d betrayed that trust, and you don’t know how to reconcile that breach enough to let him back in.”

“I don’t have to care about him for him to be ‘let back in’,” Dean insisted. “He’s Sammy’s angel; that’s his all-access pass and get-outta-jail-free card.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he made you believe that his love was part of a conspiracy to betray you both,” Elua returned. “That he had used your love against you.”

“Sam knew it was a trick,” Dean argued.

“What precisely does that matter?” Elua challenged. “It was your heart he broke.”

The rage boiling under his skin seemed to ignite at that. Dean’s eyes blazed fury as a snarling diatribe stampeded towards his tongue: how there was no way he could love the Trickster; that he still didn’t understand why Sam loved him after everything he’d done to them. That ever since their first encounter, it was always Sam preventing the kill, that Dean had always known they’d’ve been better off with the bastard dead. That no one hurt Sammy and lived, except Dean wasn’t allowed to make him pay for what he’d done, because Sam had forgiven him just like he’d always forgiven Dean…

Just like he’d forgiven Dean for every punch. For every angry word. For every undeserved condemnation and attempt to leave Sam behind because he couldn’t imagine carrying the weight for one more second. For resenting Sam the bliss of never having known their mother in life, and therefore never having to know what it was like to truly miss her as Dean did. For hating that Sam had left him behind to go to college, abandoning Dean to their father’s drunken abuse and the loneliness of life without his Sammy by his side.

Sam had always seen Dean’s reasons, and had forgiven him everything even when he shouldn’t have. Just like he had seen Gabriel’s reasons, especially once he’d known the truth of the archangel’s identity. Dean knew them, too. Knew and even understood a little, except for this last trick. The trick Sam had forgiven wholesale from almost the moment the words had left the Trickster’s mouth. The trick Dean still didn’t understand the shape of.

Elua watched, his expression gentle, as Dean finally heard the words pouring from his mouth and not just ricocheting around inside his mind. “...I like his style, sure… and he’s good in a fight. And Cas seemed like it made him happy to have the guy around… another angel that said ‘fuck off’ to Michael, y’know? But the sonuvabitch lies like he was born doing it, and I never know from one minute to the next if he’s full of shit or not. I mean, you meet all kinds on the road and I’ve met some grifters in my time that I didn’t mind a roll in the sheets with. The kind that you knew were never gonna tell you the truth about even so much as their name, but that was part of the fun because you’re lying too and they know it. But this is different. This guy’s gonna be around _forever_ , and I never know which end is up with him. How’m I supposed to keep him from hurting Sammy again… or the rest of us?”

“You mean when you can’t even be sure that he loves you all enough to tell the truth,” Elua guessed, his voice low and direct. “Because you aren’t sure of anyone’s love for you at all… not even Sam’s.”

Dean startled at the assessment, instinctively throwing up another shield. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Elua’s eyes seemed to burn as they held Dean’s, eldritch fire locking with viridian and refusing to look away. “Abariel was right about you. I almost missed it, but he was.”

“Look, you just-”

“Have you ever heard my grandfather’s name?” Elua asked suddenly, cutting off another threat. “His True Name?”

“What?” Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion, thrown by the abrupt change of subject. “Yeah, it’s something like… Yuhwuh, ain’t it?”

Elua shook his head with a rueful smile. “That’s what many humans call Him, but it’s really little more than a placeholder. Like most deities, Their true name is a sound that can’t often be replicated by mortals, mostly because of the limits of the vocal organs.”

He was set to snarl another angry reply, losing patience for the games and ready to take his flock home, bodies or no bodies...

But the sound…

The _sound…_

_It was all around him… engulfing him like fire, like a wave, like the endless_  
_fall into nothing… so endless that he wasn’t_  
_falling at all…_  
_suspended… held in the grip of something too massive to see… but_  
_not like the Rack. Not like Hell. Nothing like Hell because this was safety… safety and warmth as sure_  
_as Castiel’s embrace carrying him from the Pit_  
_only more… more oh so much more… it was his mother’s arms when he was a baby and_  
_his father’s shoulders from before it all burned down and_  
_the Impala rolling down the road with nothing but open highway and sunlight_  
_laid out as far as he could see and beyond…_

_It was that motel right after Gabriel had come back, back to back_  
_with Sam and their angels curled in close, warm wings and cool sheets and the perfect_  
_weightlessness of sated sleep creating an impenetrable buffer and_  
_every promise of family and love and safety and home and the spark..._  
_the spark of hope that refused to die no matter how much darkness tried to smother it…_  
_The spark that had caught, and held, and burned,_  
_a tiny candle of light that had refused to die even when choked_  
_by the most raging inferno of Hellfire._

When it faded, Elua was sitting beside him, one hand on his shoulder. The bodies they’d come here for lay just a few feet away, their faces so perfectly crafted that Dean felt surge of fear try to start in his chest. Except it couldn’t manage to coalesce completely: not with the way that spark in his chest was still glowing, gentle as a campfire’s ember in the desert night, reassuring him that it was safe. They were safe. They were going home.

_*Take your time.*_ It was and wasn’t a voice in his mind, the impression of words as gentle as Castiel’s shadow feathers against his skin. _*It can be strange for humans, after.*_

How much time passed before Dean could even nod to acknowledge the statement, he couldn’t have said. It was and wasn’t the same as what he’d experienced touching Yggdrasil, and it might have been an eternity before the things beneath his skin that had woken in its wake settled enough for him to trust even his mental voice. _Why?_

_*Because you’ve put away childish things for far too long, Dean Winchester.*_ A gentle touch of Elua’s hand over his own. _*And there are some things no one should ever be asked to give up.*_

Nodding again, Dean gazed at the golem bodies nearby, studying the nuances of the one meant for Castiel. At first and second and even fifth examination, it was a flawless replica of Jimmy’s face and body. The physical form that Dean had come to expect when seeing his angel. The one he’d learned by touch and taste until he could find the places that made the angel moan by muscle memory alone. And yet there were tiny differences, when he really looked: subtle changes in the set of the shoulders, in the tips of the eyelashes, the deceptive coil of muscle that would be stronger than any human’s could hope to be.

It wasn’t Jimmy’s body. He wouldn’t have to ignore that it wasn’t Castiel’s skin that he was touching. This was a body for an angel, for Castiel. A body that would probably respond exactly as he’d come to expect, despite the fact that it had never known his touch.

And Gabriel’s, too: though he didn’t know the details like Sam undoubtedly did, Dean could see some of the micro-distinctions from the one that the archangel had worn for the past fifteen centuries. From the one that Gabriel had worn when he’d made himself a living shield between Sam and Lucifer. It was and wasn’t the face that had cast a smug, mocking, triumphant expression Dean’s way as he’d flung the very idea of their love in his face: a seemingly final taunt before betraying them utterly.

It wasn’t the face Gabriel had been wearing during those uncounted hours between that betrayal and the face-off at Stull, or the one that Sam had shown him in the sliver of memory from that time… a flash of something that Dean still recoiled from the possibility behind. They’d been torn apart and remade, all four of them, in the process of stopping the unstoppable. None of them were the same as they’d been at the start.

Maybe that was all it really took, if he was honest with himself. Just knowing that none of them had come through this war unscathed. That what was about to happen wasn’t starting over, or again, but learning how to live with the past as they moved into the future.

And maybe, just maybe, finding a way to heal along the way.

“We should get back.” Dean’s voice sounded different to his own ears. Or was it just that he’d never really heard himself before?

“Whenever you like,” Elua agreed.

* * *

When they arrived back in the clearing where the others waited, Dean’s eyes went first to Sam. He saw his brother’s lock onto him, saw those eyebrows knit as Sam saw something in Dean that confused him for a few steps, then smooth out again as he understood what it was.

Sam had always known him better than anyone else. Even Castiel, whose gentle smile at seeing Dean emerging with a new vessel in his arms was so warm that Dean could feel it bathe him from across the glade.

He could see Gabriel’s uncertainty, a line of tension etched across his polished sardonic exterior like a razor slash through a painting. He hadn’t forgiven yet; no matter how persuasive or insightful, Elua wasn’t that good; but the sight of it made Dean want to try. Not for Sam’s sake, or the archangel’s, but for his own.

His brother had learned years ago how to see through Gabriel’s illusions. Dean found that he wanted to learn the knack of it. Wanted to know if what he’d once felt from the archangel back when they were all first mated was real.

If it was possible to get it back again, or if the fragile thing that had been starting to strengthen between them was another thing they’d lost in the fire.

And maybe it wasn’t, if the unguarded surprise on Gabriel’s face as Dean and Elua rejoined Team Free Will was any indication. Because it wasn’t Castiel’s new form cradled in Dean’s arms, but the archangel’s: a gesture of faith, and a promise of peace between them, if nothing else.

As ever, Sam didn’t need to be told. Didn’t even need to sense it through the bond. He smiled at Dean, a wobbly thing that spoke volumes more than they could ever say, and Dean gave him a smile in return that was every promise he’d ever managed to keep to his younger brother.

“These ain’t exactly light,” he said, his insouciant tone belying the emotions running beneath it. “There anything else we got on the checklist?”

Castiel, from where he stood beside Elua and his own new vessel, shook his head. “Nothing.”

A glance at each of them again. At the angels’ true faces, and back to the pole by which his heart’s compass had been fixed since his earliest memories. “All right then, everybody… let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep a weather eye on the horizon (a/k/a subscribe to the Angelic Mates series) for the final (planned) story in this ‘verse: _**Together Ever After**_.
> 
> My readers are the best readers! ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥


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